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KY 


FANNY  BRUCE  COOK. 


UNIVERSITY 


CALIFORNIA^ 

SAX    FRANCISCO: 

JOSEPH     WlNTERBl'KN     C().,    PRINTERS    AND     KlJ'XTRoTYl'KKS, 

417  Clay  Street,  net  ween  Sansoim-  and   Battery, 

1892. 


INDEX. 


inter  ..........  . 

Chilnualna  ...........  . 


w 

Heart  Woes  ..........  \.  .  .......  ^  ..........  Jf.  ...............  10 

Linda  .................  ^^v.WBHii^rr:  .................  12 

Death  ........................................................  14 

Are  They  All  False?  ...........................................  16 

The  Blooming  Spring  Time  Gomes   ..........................  17 

The  Belle  .....................................................  19 

Virtue  and  Vice  ..........  .....................................  20 

Sunshine  ....................................................  23 

A  Whisper  to  All  ............................................  26 

An  Elegy  ..........................  ..........................  28 

Summer  Time  ................................................  30 

Foreboding  ....................................................  33 

Time  of  Flowers  .............................................  34 

A  Song  For  The  Times  .......................................  37 

In  Grief  's  Stormy  Cloud  .....................................  40 

Yosemite  ....................................................  42 

Doth  Thy  Face  Speak  Thy  Heart  ?  ..............................  45 

Jessie's  Fause  Love  ................................  '  .......  ...  47 

Be  Glad  ....................................  ..................  50 

The  Reaper  Angel  .............  .  .   .............................  52 

Hope  .........................................................  53 

Too  Late  ......................................................  54 

The  Fishermen  ..................  ............................  56 

The  Wife  's  Welcome  ..........................................  58 

Home  Faces  ...............  ...................................  60 

Cheer  Earth's  Sad  Hearts  .....................................  61 

July  Dreamings,  A  California  Idyl  .......................    ......  63 

Our  Angel  Boy  ...............................................  68 

Memorial—  My  Brother  ........................................  70 

The  Carnival  of  Summer  ...............  .....................  73 

Laugh  and  be  Gay  ............................................  83 

Somebody's  Daughter  ..............  "  ...............  85 


IV  INDEX. 

Page. 

The  Picture 87 

To  J.  J.  B.,  my  Brother  . 91 

Suspense 92 

The  Magic  Glass   94 

The  Au  tumn  Rain 1 05 

Philanthropist's  Dream ]  07 

Varied  Fates 108 

Time  and  the  Seasons 112 

The  Convent 116 

A  Lay  For  The  Seasons 122 

The  Eival  Dancers 126 

A  Song 127 

To  My  Sister 128 

.Rain,  Drearisome  Rain 129 

Cheer  Earth's  Sad  Hearts 131 

Discord 133 

Power  of  Hope 1 34 

Love  Me  While  I'm  Here 135 

The  Little  Angel 136 

Never  Put  Off  'Till  To-Morrow 137 

My  Heart's  Prayer ,  ...   139 

Looking  Into  Eyes  That  Love  Us 140 

Dream  Not  of  Clouds  when  Sunbeams  Shine 141 

Judge  Not,  Least  Ye  Be  Judged 143 

Jealousy 144 

A  Life  Sketch 146 

Song 150 

Sing  For  The  Bowl 150 

Why  Did  Le  Gang  Awa 152 

/Our  Country 153 

The  Valley  of  Mariposa 157 

The  Winter  Winds 1-30 

Mock  Me  Not  With  Flatt'ring  Wiles 161 

My  Mother 162 

Fancy  and  Love . , 163 

Pean  For  Liberty 165 

Trust  On..  168 


INDEX.  V 

Page. 

Lines  To  Jean  ......  ...........................................  160 

The  Wife's  Devotion  ..........................................  170 

The  Soldier's  Dying  Wife  .....................................  171 

Dawn     .........  .................  -  ...........................  173 

The  Mother's  Watch   .........................................  175 

The  Suicide  ...................................................  176 

Song   ........................................................  179 

Learn  To  Bear  ..............................................  180 

Friendship's  Offering  ..........................................  181 

A  Summer  Shower  ............................................  1  82 

Fair  The  Blossoms  Joy  is  Wreathing  ..........................  183 

The  Beggar  .......................................  .............  1  85 

To  Mary  .....................................................  186 

The  Broken  Vow  ..............................................  187 

The  Poet's  Hours  ............................................  188 

Welcome  To  The  New  Year  ....................................  1  90 

The  Deserted  House  ..........................................  191 

Song  ..........................................................  192 

Enigma  .....................................................  1  93 

My  Bonnie  Stream  ............    ...............................  1  94 

Spring  .....................................................  1.95 

Home  Affection  ......................................  .........  196 

The  Maiden's  Query  ..........  •  --^  i  —  .....  —  ................  ]  98 

Eouse,  Mortals,  Rouse!  ____       -il&SE.  .LIBR^/:  ............  199 


Music  ...................  V./.  ...........  2C1 

Affections  Offering  .....  ...  .  ^Ss^^^ORMA^X^  .......  .....  205 

They  Met  and  Parted  .............  ".  .    .  ........................  208 

Tide  of  Time  ..............................................  209 

Song  ....................................  .  .....................  211 

The  Unrequited  ..............................................  212 

Immortal  Life  ..............................................  213 

City  Toilers  ...................................................  214 

Time  of  Flowers  .............................................  219 

Blushing  ..................................    ...................  221 

March  of  Life   ...........  ....................................  223 

June..  .  227 


VI  INDEX. 

Page. 

Fancy's  Weaving 231 

A  Lay  For  You  And  I 232" 

The  Winds 235 

Appeal  For  Nicaragua 237 

Song 239 

In  Memory  Of  One  Who  Died  In  Bloom  Of  Youth 240 

Oh!  There's  a  Grief , 242 

ToF 243 

Brighter  Days 244 

Monody 245 

Changing 247 

A  Hymn 249 

A  Prayer 250 

Dream  On 251 

To  My  Mother 252 

The  Betrothed 253 

Our  Earlier  Years 259 

Jeanie 262 

Flora's  Departure 267 

A  Sigh  To  The  Past 268 

Memories 269 

Oh !     Why  In  Sadness  Bow  The  Head 27 1 

To  My  Sister,  On  Her  Bridal  Day    272 

Twilight 272 

Farewell  To  Thee,  Jersey 275 

Song 278 

Woman's  Wrongs 278 

The  Heart 280 

The  Soldier's  Love •  •  281 

To  Miss  Catherine  Hayes 283 

Monody 284 

The  Lake  Of  The  Cliff 286 

Song 287 

Inez         288 

The  Broken  Heart 294 

The  Last  Vigil 295 

I  Dreamed  Of  Thee   .  296 


©Janet]  '$   Gfcfti 


WINTER. 

HO  welcomes  the  winter?     Not  I,  not  I, 

Though  a  merry  wight  is  he; 
Though  he  laughs  as  he  hangs  his  sparkling  gems; 

On  boughs  of  the  leafless  trees; 
Though  like  jewels  the  icicles  gleam  and  shine, 

I  turn  from  their  glist'ning  rays; 
From  the  might  of  his  glazing  breath  I  turn 
To  the  golden  summer  days. 

Though  bis  brow  be  decked  with  a  diadem, 

As  he  waves  his  frostly  wand; 
Keep  me  from  the  chill  of  his  freezing  glance,. 

Or  the  clasp  of  his  icy  hand; 
For  I  hail  not  the  fall  of  the  autumn  leaf 

When  the  shiv'ring  breezes  blow — 
When  the  glad  earth  doffs  her  flowery  robe, 

For  a  winding  sheet  of  snow. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Though  the  moon  and  stars  wear  a  brighter  flash 

Yet  the  twilight  skies  are  pale; 
Oh!  give  me  the  blush  of  the  dewy  spring, 

When  the  tempests  cease  to  wail. 
.For  I  love  the  rills,  the  birds  and  flowers, 

The  zephyr,  and  gorgeous  beams, 
'That  Apollo  flings  to  the  chanting  waves, 

As  they  toss  the  shining  streams. 

'Though  many  may  welcome  the  Christmas  feast, 

And  the  new  year  gladly  greet; 
Yet  the  poor  love  not  the  gathering  frost, 

Nor  the  freezing  rain  and  sleet; 
As  they  look  from  their  homes  of  woe  and  want, 

With  boding  hearts  of  sorrow, 
As  they  list  to  the  tempest's  madd'ning  strife, 

How  they  dread  the  dark  to-morrow. 

While  the  wild  winds  rush  o'er  the  storm-lash'd  main, 

And  the  writhing  waters  leap, 
And  the  bright  stars  sink  in  the  cloud-wrapped  skies, 

Like  snow-flakes  in  the  deep. 
•Oh!  they  are  desolate,  weary  and  sick, 

While  the  rich  are  glad  and  gay; 
«God  pity  the  lot  of  the  hapless  crowds, 

That  are  striving  from  day  to  day! 

Would  you  think  it  a  season  of  joy  for  them, 
And  call  it  a  bright  New  Year— 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

With  a  mouldy  crust  for  a  Christmas  feast, 

And  their  New  Year's  gift — a  tear  ? 
Then  who  hails  the  winter  ?     Not  I,  not  I, 

Though  a  merry  wight  is  he; 
Though  he  laughs  as  he  hangs  his  sparkling  gems 

On  the  bough  of  the  leafless  tree. 


CHILNUALNA.* 

Hail  me,  dashing  Chilnualna  ! 

O'er  the  cliffs  and  crags  I'm  leaping; 
Where  the  wild  Bear,  and  the  Lion, 

From  their  lairs  are  stealthy  creeping. 

Here  I  love  to  shout  and  clamber, 
O'er  the  rocky  nights  and  steepness, 

As  with  misty  mantle  cov'ring, 
Every  nook  and  cave-like  deepness. 

Here  I  dwell  with  Nymphs  and  Dryads; 

Here,  so  high  perched  on  the  mountains; 
While  my  everlasting  waters 

Flutter  down  in  ceaseless  fountains. 


"A  beautiful  water-fall  near  "  Wawona,"  Mariposa  County,  visited 
Jby  tourists  on  their  way  to  Yosemite. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Out  I  leap  into  the  sunshine, 
Toss  my  silv'ry  locks  before  me; 

"While,  as  kneeling  on  my  footstool, 
Lo!  the  river  floods  adore  me. 

Dashing  into  space  so  grandly, 
Naiad  streams  are  dancing  lightly; 

With  a  million  scintillations, 

Spangling  all  the  air  so  brightly. 

Or  from  cliff  or  turret  springing, 
As  in  steely  armor's  brightness, 

On  their  foaming  steeds  descending, 
Ghostly  knights  in  robes  of  whiteness, 

In  the  Sylvan  grotto  hiding, 

See  my  bride  her  bright  hair  tosses, 

Shim'ring  down  in  glist'ning  meshes, 
'Mong  the  lovely  ferns  and  mosses. 

I  am  ruler  of  these  forests; 

I  am  noisy  in  my  clamor, 
As  old  Jove's  resounding  thunders, 

As  old  Vulcan's  ringing  hammer. 

With  a  thousand  eyes  I'm  gleaming, 
And  my  white  beard  wildly  tosses^ 

As  rude  Boreas,  jealous-hearted, 
O'er  my  mountain  passes  crosses. 


FANCY  S   ETCHINGS. 

What  care  I  for  howling  tempests, 

As  I  chant,  in  joyful  singing, 
Praises  to  the  God  who  made  me, 

Echo  with  my  chorus  ringing. 

Lo!  the  Frost  King  brings  his  shackles, 
Ties  my  limbs  with  strength  and  power, 

While  his  Elves  are  deftly  weaving, 

Shroud,  and  wreath,  and  snowy  flower. 

Though  he  tries  with  deathly  stillness, 
But  to  hush  my  voice  forever; 

I  leap  out  from  his  embraces, 
And  his  manacles  I  sever. 

For  I'm  Monarch  of  these  forests, 

From  my  great  throne  high  and  lonely, 

Shouting  out  to  lesser  streamlets, 
I  reign  o'er  these  waters  only. 

I  am  mighty  in  my  power, 

I  am  splendid  in  my  glory, 
What  care  I  for  Neptune's  oceans, 

Famed  in  song,  and  ancient  story. 


10  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


FORGIVE. 

Forgive,  forgive!  yes,  every  wrong  forgive, 

Nor  with  lack  charity  turn  thou  away, 
From  one  who  pardon  seeks;  if  thou  wouldst  hope  to  live 

In  Heaven's  supernal  glories,  endless  day, 
Thou  must  all  wrongs  forgive. 

Though  those  thou  dream'dst  were  ever  faithful  friends, 
Have  pressed  thy  brow  with  but  a  traitor's  kiss, 

And  thy  forsaken  heart  deep  anguish  rends, 
Did  not  our  Lord  betrayed  e'en  suffer  this, 
Yet  patiently  forgive  ? 

Lo!  from  the  cross  Christ  speaks  to  me,  to  you, 
He,  the  great  God  in  man,  who  had  all  power, 

Said:  "Father,  forgive  them — they  know  not  what  they  do;" 
Prayed  for  his  slayers,  in  that  awful  hour, 
And  so  must  we  forgive. 


HEART  WOES. 

What  woe  like  mine  ?  sighed  a  widow  pale, 
As  she  bowed  her  head  'neath  her  sable  vail; 
Ah  !  who  more  desolate,  sad  and  lone, 
Cries  up  for  help  to  the  Maker's  throne  ? 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  II 

What  woe  like  mine?  cried  a  weeping  maid, 

By  a  dastard's  broken  vow  betrayed; 

Oh  !  who  will  pity  my  stricken  heart 

'Mong  the  selfish  throngs  that  crowd  life's  mart  ? 

What  woe  like  mine  ?  moaned  a  gray-haired  sire, 

As  he  saw  his  only  son  expire; 

Ah  !  who  is  left  to  blazon  my  name 

On  the  shining  scroll  of  immortal  fame  ? 

What  woe  like  mine  ?  wept  a  mother  dear, 
As  she  sobbing  bent  o'er  her  infant's  bier; 
What  comfort  for  me  on  earth  is  left, 
By  death  of  my  bosom's  pride  bereft  ? 

Time  passed  on,  and  the  widow  pale 
Blushed  'neath  the  folds  of  a  bridal  vail; 
The  maid  laid  her  smiling  face  to  rest 
On  a  new  love's  fond  and  faithful  breast. 

The  sire,  his  moments  of  life  are  told 
In  heaping  his  shining  gods  of  gold; 
But  the  mother,  smitten  by  sorrow's  wraithv 
Looks  up  to  God  iii  trusting  faith. 


12  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


LINDA. 

Swathed  in  her  winding  sheet  she  laid, 

Past  Youth's  ideal  dreaming; 

And  the  moonbeams  through  the  casement  strayed 
And  over  her  pallid  features  played, 

With  white  and  ghastly  gleaming. 

Too  sensitive  heart  so  steeped  in  wo, 

Too  frail  thy  life's  threads  blending; 

Affection  crushed  that  still  would  glow, 

Writhing  in  misery's  keenest  throe 

Scorn— love — and  life  contending. 

But  stars  will  shine  though  clouds  may  bide 

Their  sparkles  through  heaven  glancing; 
So  love  may  live  through  wrong  and  pride 
Still  gushes  and  floats  the  reckless  tide, 
Like  Will  o'  wisp  entrancing. 

Yet  in  the  flush  of  youth's  lovliest  dawn, 

When  the  soul  looks  forth  unshrinking; 
'Ere  by  the  wrenchings  of  misery  torn, 
When  life  seems  an  Eden,  the  heart  like  the  morn, 
But  sunbeams  of  happiness  drinking. 

Linda  the  gentle — Linda  the  fair, 

The  child  of  mirth  and  gladness; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  13 

Till  that  breast  was  pierced  by  the  fangs  of  care, 
And  sorrow  had  nursed  her  vultures  there, 
Goading  the  brain  to  madness. 

Day  came,  and  went,  and  the  night  drew  near, 

Her  phantom  reign  resuming; 
So  stormy  and  bleak,  so  vast  and  drear, 
That* the  bosom  quaked  with  spectral  fear, 

Amid  the  wierd-like  glooming. 

And  blighted  she  lay  so  chill  and  cold, 

Crushed  down  in  youth's  young  blooming; 

'Ere  yet  life's  twentieth  summer  was  told, 

Death  clasped  her  form  in  his  icy  fold, 
Faith,  hope  and  love  entombing. 

And  he  who  filled  that  heart  with  care, 

His  mind  yet  conscience  haunting; 

Shall  feel  as  fiends  held  orgies  there, 

And  fiery  scorpions  made  their  lair, 
Forever  wildly  taunting. 

So  fadeless  her  slumber,  so  fixed  and  deep, 

So  rigid,  so  unheeding; 
Oh  !  Ye  might  not  break  that  stony  sleep, 
In  vain  shall  the  wretched  mourners  weep, 

In  vain  grief's  frantic  pleading. 


FANCYS  ETCHINGS. 


Joy's  sparkling  goblet  had  met  thy  lip, 

Bright  as  the  sunny  beamings, 
That  into  the  shining  waters  dip, 
But  too  oft  like  them  the  hopes  we  sip 
Are  false  and  transient  gleamings. 


DEATH. 

We  are  marching,  ever  marching, 

To  the  open  gates  of  death; 
We  are  nearing  with  each  moment, 

With  each  pulse  throb,  and  each  breath; 
Ever  onward  is  life's  journey, 

Never  backward  can  we  turn, 
Though  all  rugged  ba  the  pathway. 

And  the  skies  look  dark  and  stern. 

Some  are  hast'ning,  madly  hast'ning, 

On  to  meet  the  victor  knight, 
Others  loiter  by  the  wayside, 

And  will  shrink  to  face  his  blight; 
While  'mid  rev'ling  scenes  of  pleasure, 

Crowds  are  gathered  in  the  dance, 
Hearts  are  smitten  ev'ry  instant 

Br  the  ghostly  monarch's  lance. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  15 

All  marriage  bells  gladly  ringing- 
Joy  on  the  shining  air  they  send, 

Yet  each  knell  brings  bride  and  bridegroom, 
Ever  nearer  to  time's  end; 

And  the  warrior,  proudly  rushing, 
'Mid  the  fearful  battle's  strife, 

For  his  country  or  for  glory, 
Yields  to  Death  his  mortal  life. 

See  the  maid,  in  love's  first  dreaming, 

Cast,  like  faded  lily  down; 
'Mid  life's  sorrowing  or  gladness 

All  must  meet  Death's  blasting  frown, 
Lo,  he  gathers  youth  like  roses, 

Locks  whitening  with  time's  snow, 
Young  manhood  and  the  baby  faces, 

By  his  spell  are  stricken  low. 

In  the  land  of  fair  Italia, 

Or  the  icy,  frigid  zone, 
Mortal  captives  aye  are  falling 

'Bound  the  ruthless  slayer's  throne. 
We  are  marching,  ever  marching, 

To  the  open  gates  of  death, 
We  are  nearing  with  each  moment, 

With  each  pulse  throb  and  each  breath 


16  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


ARE  THEY  ALL  FALSE. 

Of  all  the  virtues  that  grace  our  earth. 

Doth  friendship  never  act  a  part  ? 
Or  must  gold  ever  form  the  welding  link; 

To  fetter  a  comrade's  heart? 
The  cheerful  smile  on  a  winning  face, 

Is  it  but  deception's  mask  ? 
The  kindly  glance,  and  clasping  hand, 

Are  they  false  must  we  ever  ask  ? 

The  gentle  tone,  the  soothing  word, 

May  ye  trust — may  the  heart  believe  ? 
When  the  lips  that  loudest  would  sound  our  praise, 

Have  been  the  first  to  deceive  ? 
The  guileful  speech  of  a  flattering  tongue, 

Too  oft  true  friendship  may  win; 
But  beware — the  jewels  that  deck  the  form, 

Ne'er  bespeak  the  heart  within. 

Those  that  we  meet  in  the  festive  hall, 

That  share  in  our  mirthful  glee, 
Will  they  cheer  us  still  if  misfortune  comes 

With  its  boon  of  misery  ? 
Are  they  false,  all  false  the  mortal  throngs? 

Are  there  no  pure  friendships  given? 
No  tie  to  bind  true  heart  to  heart, 

And  link  the  soul  with  heaven  ? 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  17 

1  know  in  circle  of  home  fond  love 

In  faithful  candor  glows; 
In  changeless  bloom,  like  ever-green  tree, 

Amid  joy  or  blasting  woes; 
But  friendship,  are  thy  links  but  formed  of  gold 

Or  self  interest  that  firmly  dwell? 
Nay  thy  powers  have  bound  some  human  hearts,. 

With  a  deathless  heaven-born  spell. 


THE  BLOOMING  SPRINGTIME  COMES. 

Behold  the  blooming  springtime  comes, 

Robed  in  flowers,  and  gemmed  with  dew, 
The  heavens  a  brilliant  splendor  wear, 

A  deeper  and  a  lovelier  blue. 
She  comes  so  like  a  timid  maid, 

With  eyes  of  light  and  cheeks  of  bloom, 
Oh,  smile  to  greet  her  mortals  all, 

Let  not  one  heart  be  steeped  in  gloom. 
Shining  she  comes  as  dazzling  bright, 

As  hopes  to  the  unclouded  heart. 
And  yet,  alas!  like  thee,  wierd  hope, 

Will  all  her  loveliness  depart; 
Yet  blissful  time  thou  wilt  return, 

To  cheer  us  with  thy  birds  and  flow'rs, 
As  sorrow  like  the  blighting  frost, 

Will  pass  and  joy  again  be  ours. 


18  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Thou  rose-crown'd  nymph,  what  bring'st  thou  now, 

Amid  thy  buds  and  leaflets  green, 
Must  war  our  country  desolate  ? 

The  heart  from  thy  dear  charms  to  wean  ? 
Shall  pestilence  thy  zephers  taint, 

And  with  thy  glowing  sunshine  play? 
Ah!  no,  let  blushing  health  come  forth, 

And  strew  with  gladness  all  the  way. 
Whil'st  thou  in  bride  like  beauty  reign'st, 

Shall  mortals  bow  in  sorrow's  weeds  ? 
Great  Spirit  shield  us  from  these  ills, 

This  heart  in  humble  anguish  pleads. 
Glorious  season,  springtime  golden . 

Queen  season  of  the  train  art  thou, 
Thy  warm  kiss  wakes  the  ice  bound  streams, 

And  sunbeams  wreath  thy  radiant  brow. 

Thy  morn  with  songs  of  birds  steps  forth, 

Flinging  across  the  azure  s-kies, 
Her  banner  so  superbly  blent, 

Of  silvery  gleams  and  rosy  dies. 
Thy  fading  twilight  who  may  paint, 

When  gorgeous  hues  all  heaping  rest, 
Like  fairy  bowers  by  magic  strewn, 

So  richly  in  the  dusky  west. 
Thy  moonlight  so  serenely  calm, 

So  holy,  ever  seems  to  tell, 
Of  fairer  worlds  where  blessed  souls, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  19 

Shall  in  eternal  springtime  dwell. 
I  love  thee,  oh!  thou  season  fair, 

A  hallow'd  spell  from  thee  is  cast 
O'er  human  hearts,  that  lingers  there, 

Like  some  bright  presence  from  the  past. 


THE  BELLE. 

Rosy  cheeks  and  beaming  eyes. 

Cherry  lips  and  forehead  white; 
Many  a  hapless  lover  sighs 

'  Neath  her  glances  burning  bright. 

Grace  in  every  movement  charms, 
Beauty  from  each  dark  tress  peeps; 

'Gainst  her  bachelor  hearts  in  arms, 
Constant  war  her  magic  keeps. 

Rings  her  laugh  in  music  sweet 
As  the  rills  mellifluous  lay; 

Or  the  notes  glad  birds  repeat, 
As  they  greet  the  new-born  day. 

Seems  there  angels  at  her  side, 
Bidding  evil  spells  depart; 

Pray  they  not  no  ill  betide, 
Sorrow  never  rend  her  heart. 


20  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Ne'er  should  envy's  cruel  speech, 
Strive  to  make  her  heart  distres't; 

As  the  snake  will  slyly  reach 

And  sting  the  birdling  in  its  nest. 

This  fair  lady  that  I  know, 
Liveth  in  a  sylvan  bower; 

Heart  pure  as  the  sinless  snow, 
Blest  with  all  the  muses  pow'r. 

No  coquette  this  winsome  lass, 

But  nature's  own  bewitching  child; 

Fair  as  daisy  in  the  grass. 

Gentle,  modest,  meek  and  mild. 

Who  shall  win  the  lovely  prize  ? 

Lucky  wight  indeed  were  he, 
While  on  earth  beneath  those  eyes, 

Paradise  would  seem  to  be. 


VIRTUE  AND  VICE. 

Virtue  belov'd  of  angels  and  revered  by  men, 

In  features  fair  as  are  the  holy  throngs  of  God; 

Beauteous  and  radiant  with  undying  youth, 

Ever  cheering  and  comforting  the  honest  heart. 

While  reason,  and  truth,  with  solemn  and  thoughtful  mien, 

Fearless  direct  and  guide  her  on  her  sinless  road; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  21 

The  syren  hope  in  gladdening  tones  e'er  singing, 
Leadeth  on  the  way  with  standard  brightly  gleaming. 
And  ever  at  her  side  comes  charity  and  faith, 
In  sweet  attendance,  mingling  pure— mild  charity 
With  placid  countenance  and  kind  and  gentle  speech, 
Ever  on  men  bestowing  her  good  and  blessed  gifts; 
While  faith  with  glowing  torch,  and  eyes  and  hand  uplifted, 
Points  the  repentant  soul  to  happiness  beyond. 

But  vice  comes  by,  with  upas  breath  destroying, 
Decrepid  with  age,  yet  bedecked  in  glowing  hues; 
Enticing  mortals  o'er  seeming  flowery  path, 
Which  doth  but  end  in  woe,  in  sorrowing  and  sin. 
And  with  her  shameless  Malice  and  foul  Envy  came; 
The  one  with  venom'd  tongue  the  direst  evil  speaking, 
While  envy  at  others'  rights  did  base,  and  vainly  grasp; 
And  in  her  train  gay  folly  tript,  a  mindless  maid, 
Startling  the  air  with  her  most  boisterous  laugh; 
Aye,  treacherously  leading  blindfold  conscience  on, 
'Till  she  looks  forth  too  late  to  find  herself  misled. 
Throughout  all  space  they  pass'd,  but  few  to  Virtue  bow'd. 
While  yet  to  Vice  her  myriad  votaries  clung. 

Two  beings  were,  one  followed  and  sought  after  Vice, 
And  hapless  lived  a  life  of  bitterness  and  strife. 
And  died  in  woful  wretchedness  — none  cared  his  fate, 
None  wept  his  loss  nor  ever  kept  his  mem'ry  dear. 
The  other  Virtue  loved,  and  ever  cheerful  live.l 

2 


22  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

In  sweet  content,  and  when  the  dark  winged  angel  came, 
Pass'd  out  mourned  and  lamented  by  the  world  at  large; 
For  Virtue  all  admired,  though  few  her  precepts  kept, 
And  still  chose  Vice  in  her  deceptive  mood, 
To  the  lovelier  radiance  of  her  chaster  mien. 

Lo!  in  a  narrow  way,  led  by  the  star  of  faith, 

Behold  true  woman,  stepping  to  this  side  then  to  that 

To  counsel  straying  hearts — smoothing  the  sick  one's  couch, 

Giving  to  hungry  need,  sweet  comfort  whispering 

To  departing  souls;  hiding  from  a  mocking  world 

The  faults  of  others      No  twinge  of  envy  stirs  her  heart, 

Rejoiced  by  others'  weal.     Lo!  Malice  in  vain 

Like  serpent  stings  at  her,  with  poison'd  fang, 

She  keeps  the  path  that  Virtue  points— giving  sweet  words 

For  slander's  burning  darts — raising  her  fallen  foe. 

To  frosted  age  she  tender  reverence  pays; 

Ever  in  her  soul  the  assembled  Virtues  dwell . 

Strewing  life's  ways  with  blessings  kind,  as  Summer  fair 

Scattered  o'er  earth  her  precious  fruits  and  flowers. 

But  woman,  led  by  vanity  and  envy  dire. 

Flung  'neath  the  gilded  car  of  Vice  her  once  pure  heart, 

'Till  all  the  Virtues  there  were  crushed  or  trampled  out; 

And  in  their  place  malice  and  slander  sat  enthroned, 

And  she  did  jibe  and  jeer  at  perfect  womanhood, 

And  put  within  their  way  great  stumbling  blocks  to  wound, 

Rude,  sneering  taunts  to  mock  and  turn  their  steps  aside, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  23 

Holding  their  goodness  forth  a  scorn  unto  her  mates, 
Scoffing  that  they  should  wed  for  love,  nor  sell  themselves, 
For  gold,  and  stand  before  the  world  a  living  lie; 
With  face  of  smiles  cov'ring  a  rotten  traitor  heart. 
Like  stainless  sepulchre  rear'd  o'er  corruption's  work, 
'Till  sinking,  step  by  step,  from  vice  to  vice,  they  plunge, 
Dragging  once  spotless  souls  down  to  pollution's  dens. 
Thou  beauteous  earth,  why  art  thou  so  debased  and  fallen? 
Nor  still  perfect  as  first  from  the  Creator's  hand  ? 
Immortal  souls  why  are  ye  so  to  evil  prone  ? 
If  good  ye  love,  why  in  iniquity  so  denied  ? 
Oh!  flee  from  Vice,  from  baneful  inclinations  turn, 
And  let  Virtue  be  helmsman  in  the  voyage  of  life. 


SUNSHINE. 

Beauteous  Sunshine,  gorgeous  Sunshine, 

How  I  love  its  molten  beams; 
Pressing  now  against  my  casement, 

Like  bright  fantasies  in  dreams. 
Bringing  back  life's  ways  of  glory, 

Childhood  with  its  gleesome  days; 
Blissful  time,  whose  griefless  joying, 

Made  the  heart  one  sunny  blaze. 


24  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

When  the  merry  Christmas  brought  us, 

Mirth  and  gladness  with  the  hours, 
'Ere  the  heart  had  learned  life's  realness, 

How  hopes  wither  like  the  flow'rs; 
Fade,  and  banish  like  the  sunbeams, 

With  which  in  childish  sport  we  played; 
Grasping  at  their  gleamy  network, 

That  against  the  wall  was  laid. 

Oh!  the  Sunshine,  Nature's  Poet, 

Fingers  dipt  in  heav'nly  light; 
That  on  every  leaf,  and  flower, 

God's  sweet  poesy  doth  write. 
Flooding  all  the  mid-day  zenith, 

With  wavy  seas  of  amber  tinge; 
Circling  western  skies  at  even, 

With  shining  threads  of  golden  fringe. 

Slanting  through  the  open  doorway. 

Quiv'ring  column's  gleaming  bright; 
Seeming  like  daguerred  reflections. 

From  the  home  of  endless  light. 
In  my  heart  paints  scene  of  rapture, 

Sweet  Contentment's  picture  fair; 
Faithful  love  beside  the  hearth-stone, 

Sits  like  watching  angel  there. 

O'er  Chowchilla's  hills  and  chasms, 

Apollo  darting  beamings  launches; 


UNIVERSITY 

25 


Sliim'ring  on  the  Merced's  waters, 

Gold  rain  sifting  through  the  branches; 

Flaming  up  like  grand  Vesuvius, 

Brazen  shafts  so  high,  and  spiry; 

Glist'ning  on  the  steeples  summit, 
Burning  rays  so  wierd  and  fiery. 

On  Yosemite's  high  mountains, 

Dripping  with  an  arid  glare; 
Sparkling  on  their  snow-wreath'd  foreheads, 

Like  glist'ning  diamonds  cluster  'd  there; 
Nestling  in  that  mystic  valley. 

Peeping  in  the  sylvan  dell; 
All  the  herd  and  sportive  lambkins, 

Wreathing  with  a  cheery  spell. 

Sunny  gleams  on  baby  faces, 

Glow  there  like  the  smile  of  God; 
As  still  unto  his  arms  he  hailed  them, 

When,  as  man,  our  earth  he  trod; 
And  in  mercy  to  Nain's  widow, 

Bowed  'neath  Sorrow's  dark  control; 
Bade  her  son  fling  off  Death's  shackles, 

And  life's  sunshine  light  his  soul. 

Oh!  the  Sunshine,  blessed  Sunshine, 

Semblance  of  the  love  divine; 
Which,  though  clouds  awhile  obscure  them, 

Through  their  gloom  stray  beamings  shine 


26  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

So  Heaven's  ever  watchful  spirit, 

'Mid  life's  trials,  'mid  its  woes; 
Whispers  of  a  sinless  Eden, 

Where  eternal  Sunshine  glows. 


A  WHISPER  TO  ALL. 

Ah!  Mortals,  let  us  fondly  cherish, 

All  affections  that  are  ours; 
For  by  negligence  they  perish, 

As  unnoticed  prairie  flowers, 
When  no  zephyr  comes  and  fanneth, 

Their  frail  leaflets  parch'd  and  heated, 
So  the  heart's  affection  waneth, 

If  by  kindest  love  not  greeted. 

If  fond  hands  with  deeds  of  kindness, 

All  life's  ways  with  peace  are  strewing 
Turn  not  thou  in  thoughtless  blindness, 

To  the  untried's  tender  wooing; 
Words  alone  oh!  ne'er  are  showing, 

How  true  a  heart  may  be  to  thee, 
But  kindly  acts  from  fond  souls  flowing, 

Breathe  forth  their  pure  sincerity. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  27 

Actions  speak  the  heart's  devotion, 

Every  deed  a  something  telling; 
As  many  rivers  form  the  ocean, 

Every  drop  the  current  swelling, 
If  harsh  words  come  thy  soul  surprising 

Starts  thy  breast  to  angers  burning; 
Turn  not  thou  in  fierce  despising, 

From  confiding  love's  true  yearning. 

Not  for  foibles  doubt  the  trusted, 

Doubt  not  those  long  years  were  proving 
Not  by  thee  the  lance  be  thrusted, 

Severing  the  ties  so  loving; 
Rather  prove  them  false  and  changing, 

Whom  ye  dream't  not  could  deceive; 
Than  in  wayward  quick  estranging, 

Bid  a  faithful  bosom  grieve. 

Mortal,  if  thou  art  perfection, 

Then  all  wisely  seek  another; 
Seeming  but  thine  own  reflection, 

By  thy  merits  judge  thy  brother, 
Or  prize  affections  now  that  bless  thee, 

Dream  they  are  kindly  gifts  from  heaven, 
While  the  folding  arms  caress  thee, 

For  God  may  take  back  that  He's  given. 


28  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


AN  ELEGY. 

There's  a  jubilee  in  Heaven, 

And  the  pearl  gates  stand  ajar: 
And  the  Seraph  throngs  are  shouting, 

From  that  shining  world  afar: 
"  Come  up,  ye  beauteous  Spirits, 

From  your  pain  and  sickness  come; 
Lovely  Sister — gentle  Brother — 

Welcome  to  our  blissful  home!  " 

Though  Death  reaps  a  precious  harvest, 

Mowing  youth  and  beauty  down, 
At  Heav'n's  gate  the  angels  wait  them 

With  the  blest  immortal  crown; 
But  tears  fall  in  burning  torrents, 

And  each  heart  in  anguish  grieves, 
As  we  see  the  dear  ones  lying 

Like  the  blasted  Autumn  leaves. 

Oh !  Death  reaps  a  precious  harvest; 

See  his  sickle's  sharpen'd  side 
Smites  the  kind,  devoted  daughter— 

The  sorrowing  mother's  pride. 
Weeping  mother,  mourning  sister, 

In  your  love  so  wildly  fond, 
Know  you  not  your  household  Angel 

Shineth  in  the  courts  beyond? 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  29 

See!  the  youth,  in  budding  manhood, 

Lieth  stricken,  pale  and  low; 
Closed  the  kind  eyes'  gladsome  beaming, 

Cold  the  high  arid  manly  brow. 
But  the  same  great  God  that  tempers 

The  rude  winds  to  the  shorn  lamb, 
Sends  faith,  lone,  sorrowing  brother, 

Your  anguished  woe  to  calm. 

How  we  miss  his  kindly  greetiog! 

How  we  miss  her  heav'nly  smile! 
Why,  oh!  Death,  the  fond  heart  cheating? 

Why  with  treach'rous  hopes  beguile  ? 
Send  Thy  spirit,  blessed  Saviour, 

To  each  hopeless  mourner's  breast, 
Tell  them  of  that  bright  Hereafter, 

Where  there  lost  and  loved  ones  rest. 

Look  up!  look  up!     Ye  lone  weepers, 

With  true  faith  in  your  distress; 
List!  a  still  small  voice  is  whisp'ring, 

"I'll  not  leave  ye  comfortless!" 
Then  prepare  to  meet  your  dear  ones 

On  that  bright  but  distant  shore; 
There,  in  joy,  they  wait  your  coming, 

Where  you'll  meet  to  part  no  more. 

Rosy  Blossoms!  in  life's  Springtime 
Blasted  by  Death's  sudden  Frost; 


30  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Shining  meteors!  gleaming  jewels! 

In  Time's  mighty  ocean  lost! 
There's  a  jubilee  in  Heaven, 

In  our  midst  grief's  tempest  rolls; 
But  there's  jubilee  in  Heaven — 

Seraphs  hail  two  ransomed  Souls  ! 


SUMMER  TIME.  . 

All  hail!  oh,  all  hail!  to  the  Summer  time, 
Let's  greet  her  now  in  her  glorious  prime; 
With  a  pean  of  joy  a  pean  of  mirth, 
While  her  smile  still  gladdens  the  blooming  earth, 
While  verdure  is  decking  valley  and  field, 
And  Nature  her  offering  of  beauty  may  yield; 
While  her  bright  smile  lingers  on  hill  and  glade. 
Ere  the  blossom  shall  fall  or  leaflet  fade. 

Come  away — away  from  the  cheerless  strife, 

The  tedious  course  of  a  city  life; 

Oh!  come  where  the  song  of  the  gleesome  bird, 

In  the  green  wildwood  is  joyously  heard; 

Where  the  rill  down  the  mountain  gaily  leaps, 

And  violet  in  quiet  languor  sleeps; 

Yes,  come  to  the  dingle,  come  to  the  dell, 

Where  Summer  is  wreathing  her  richest  spell. 


Come!  come  while  the  tiniest  insect's  voice, 
Seems  to  bid  every  human  heart  rejoice; 
For  now  may  ye  worship  at  Nature's  shrine, 
Where  the  flowers  in  rich  luxuriance  twine, 
As  wreathed  by  magic  of  fairy  fingers, 
Haste  while  the  spirit  of  beauty  lingers; 
Ah!  come  ere  the  demon  of  dark  decay, 
Shall  sweep  the  gems  from  our  path  away. 

View  yon  cottage  home  on  the  meadow  green; 

There  never  sounds  voice  of  sorrow,  I  ween; 

There  childhood  is  sporting  in  mirthful  glee, 

With  no  cankering  thought  of  misery; 

Aye,  greeted  at  morn  with  a  mother's  blessing, 

At  eve  with  a  father's  kind  caressing; 

There  Summer  her  treasured  gifts  doth  bestow, 

And  the  heart  ne'er  harbors  the  sigh  of  woe. 

But  change  the  scene.     Lo!  the  wintry  blast, 
With  shriek  and  moan,  goes  hurrying  past 
A  city  home,  by  the  once  glad  hearth; 
Lo!  sorrow  stifles  the  song  of  mirth. 
There  Poverty  gathers  her  raiment  scant; 
There  wails  forth  the  piteous  cry  of  want 
From  Infancy's  lips — while  the  wind  sweeps  by, 
O'erladen  with  moanings  of  agony. 

Let  us  greet,  O,  Summer!  thy  radiant  bloom, 
Ere  Autumn  shall  come  with  his  death-like  gloom; 


32  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

For  thou  speak'st  to  the  heart  of  hope  and  joy, 
No  thought  of  sorrow  would  e'er  annoy; 
Ere  we  had  dreamed  that  the  kindliest  smile 
Oft  marked  but  deception's  mask  the  while; 
Ere  reality's  fearful  lessons  were  taught, 
And  we  lived  in  a  dreamy  world  of  thought. 

I  love,  how  I  love  thy  glittering  blaze — 

It  speaks  to  my  heart  of  my  childhood's  days; 

Of  the  home  where  my  early  footsteps  wandered, 

Where  first  in  sweet  fancy's  realm  I  pondered; 

Back,  oh!  rolls  back  each  buried  year, 

With  its  doubts,  and  its  hopes,  its  joy  and  fear, 

An  offering,  oh!  sad  as  withered  flowers, 

Lo!  memory  brings  forth  its  faded  hours. 

When  twilight  her  gorgeous  banner  hath  unfurled, 

And  night  spreads  her  star-gemmed  wings  o'er  the  world, 

Ah !  then  how  my  fond  heart  clings  to  thee ! 

For  thou  breathest  of  a  fairer  world  to  me; 

How  I  love — yes,  I  love  thy  sunny  beams, 

When  the  waters  sport  with  myriad  gleams; 

When  Nature  with  hymning  of  triumph  rings, 

As  morn  from  her  rosy  cavern  springs, 

Scattering  the  dew  from  her  glowing  wings. 

Yes,  there's  balm,  there's  joy  in  each  glistening  ray, 
Too  fleeting  thy  course,  too  hurried  thy  stay; 
Too  soon  must  we  mourn  o'er  thy  dazzling  flight, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  33 

When  thy  bright  leaves  droop,  'neath  the  Autumn's  blight; 
Too  soon  must  the  frost-Monarch  claim  thy  throne; 
Too  soon  is  thy  fragile  splendor  flown; 
But  I  hail,  and  bless  thy  glorious  reign, 
For  1  ne'er  might  look  on  thy  charms  again. 


FOREBODING. 

Why  forever  foreboding  of  griefs  ere  they  dawn, 

'•  Enough  for  to-day  is  the  evil  that's  born," 

O  why,  while  the  heart  may  be  free  from  all  sorrow, 

Cloud  the  peace  of  to-day  with  dread  of  to-morrow  ? 

For  why  should  the  trials  we've  met  in  the  past, 

A  gloom  o'er  our  present  unceasingly  cast  ? 

'Tis  time  for  thy  dreading  when  care  shall  beset, 

Nor  shadow  life's  sunshine  with  woes  that  we've  met. 

Why  ever  suspecting  that  terrors  are  near  ? 

Why  list  for  the  tempest  ere  storm  clouds  appear  ? 

While  the  morning  is  beaming,  why  picture  the  night? 

When  the  rose  is  in  bloom  why  dream  of  its  blight  ? 

Why  dread  for  thine  infant  a  pathway  of  sin  ? 

Nor  list  to  hope's  whisperings  of  glories  he'll  win  ? 

Why  trace  'neath  the  bloom  of  the  bride's  snowy  wreath 

The  dark  ghoul  of  woes,  or  phantom  of  death  ? 

The  lights  of  the  future  ne'er  dim  with  a  tear, 


34  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

But  with  faith,  and  with  hope,  meet  the  ills  that  are  here. 

When  dear  friends  are  round  thee,  why  thinking  the  while 

Of  sadness  and  partings — rather  seek  to  beguile 

The  sorrow  of  others,  the  spectre  of  care, 

Cast  out  from  thy  bosom.     Beware,  oh!  beware! 

Nor  thus  waste  life's  years,  for  soon  the  last  toll 

Of  time  for  thee  here  shall  resound  on  thy  soul. 


TIME  OF  FLOWERS. 

Thou'rt  gone,  thou'rt  gone,  glad  time  of  flowers, 

Lost,  lost  in  eternity; 
Leaving  of  sad,  and  of  blissful  hours, 

A  chequered  memory 

Of  griefs  and  joys. 

Thou'rt  gone  in  thy  pomp,  and  splendor  by, 

Like  visions  of  love  and  truth; 
Thy  leaves  all  withered  and  lifeless  lie, 

As  the  treasured  hopes  of  youth 
Which  time  destroys. 

Thou'rt  gone,  as  gleams  of  the  golden  day, 
May  fade  'mid  the  storm  and  cloud, 

As  Peace  may  flee  from  the  earthly  way, 
And  fearful  sorrows  enshroud 
The  yearning  soul. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  35 

Though  Joy  hath  gladdened  the  heart  awhile, 

Grief  may  dim  the  future  years, 
O'er  faces  that  beam'd  with  a  cheerful  smile, 

Now  the  heart  wrung  bitter  tears 
May  hopeless  flow. 

Thou'rt  gone,  but  with  thee  too  hath  fled, 

Full  many  a  joyous  dream, 
Fleeting  and  frail  as  the  rich  beams  shed 

By  sunlight,  on  the  stream, 

So  dazzling  bright. 

Thou'rt  gone  as  the  spell  of  Innocence 

May  flee  from  the  human  heart; 
'Tis  sad,  Oh!  earth  that  so  oft  from  thence, 

Truth's  holiest  gems  depart 
Like  fading  light. 

Thou'rt  gone,  and  Love  once  fondly  cherished 

Where  the  heart  with  faith  relied, 
Like  the  rainbow  hues  hath  changed  or  perished, 

They  ye  dreamt  years  had  tried, 
The  trusted  friend. 

Yet  through  all,  ah,  let  my  heart  still  dwell, 
In  its  own  bright  world  of  thought; 

Let  not  the  falseness  of  life  dispel, 
The  visions  by  fancy  wrought, 
Let  nought  e'er  rend. 


36  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

But  still  let  affection's  cheerful  ray, 
Like  beams  from  the  throne  above, 

Light  for  aye  all  my  earthly  way, 
With  a  dream  of  changeless  Love — 
A  deathless  tie. 

Oh!  still  let  the  bride  in  trusting  Hope, 
Smile  on  the  love-crowned  hours; 

And  her  future  moments  in  sunshine  ope, 
On  a  world  of  fadeless  flowers, 
And  cloudless  sky. 

Thou'rt  gone,  thou'rt  gone,  and  many  that  hailed 

With  joy  thy  radiant  birth; 
'Mid  the  bloom  the  roseate  cheek  hath  paled, 

And  withered  away  from  earth, 
Yet  evermore. 

To  greet  thy  smile  in  that  shining  sphere, 

Beyond  the  immortal  skies, 
Where  the  soul  shall  meet  all  it  e'er  loved  here, 

Where  Truth — Beauty  never  dies — 
The  blessed  shore. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  37 


A  SONG  FOB  THE  TIMES. 

List  !  and  I'll  sing  you  a  song  of  the  times, 
Of  dollars  and  cents  and  dollars  and  dimes, 
Of  the  kindly  greeting  of  friendly  hands, 
That  value  you  for  your  houses  and  lands, 
That  will  feast  with  you  in  your  hours  of  joy, 
Yet  never  are  near  when  sorrows  annoy. 
But  mark,  if  your  fortunes  are  going  down, 
Hands  cease  to  clasp  and  a  snub  or  a  frown 
Is  all  you  will  meet  in  our  modern  times, 
Of  dollars  and  cents  and  dollars  and  dimes. 

Like  Israel's  tribe  in  the  wilderness, 

Now  the  "Golden  Calf"  is  the  God  some  bless. 

Why  for  the  paltry  dollar  man  sells  his  soul  ? 

Jingle  of  twenties  the  musical  role 

That  leads  a  mother  to  sell  for  a  price 

Her  child  for  a  wife,  for  it  is  so  nice 

To  know  she  is  rich.      Ah  !  better  a  nun, 

Than  marry  a  man  who  never  has  won 

The  fresh  young  heart — even  the  love  for  Christ, 

In  our  modern  times  is  bartered  and  priced. 

My  lady  from  gold  and  silver  can  dine, 
Can  ride  in  her  carriage  on  cushions  fine, 
Youth  and  her  beauty,  all  eagerly  sold, 
To  a  man  who's  wrinkled,  ugly  and  old, 


38  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

All  for  rich  jewels  and  splendor  in  dress, 

She's  wed  to  a  life  of  much  wretchedness, 

All  for  a  mansion  and  a  high  estate, 

She  has  tied  herself  to  a  bitter  fate. 

Yes,  wives  are  thus  bought  in  our  modern  times, 

For  dollars  and  cents  and  dollars  and  dimes. 

At  your  well  spread  board  comes  a  smiling  face, 

That  in  bankrupt  home  leaves  a  vacant  place, 

Where  the  butterfly  friend  has  fled  from  sight, 

As  they  felt  the  doom  of  misfortunes  blight, 

Ever  on  hand  with  a  word  of  advice, 

As  they  grasp  your  purse  with  the  strength  of  a  vice, 

For  loan  a  peep  in  your  pocket  they  take, 

As  fishing  for  coin  for  a  banking  stake, 

But  would  scout  your  name  for  the  worst  of  crimes, 

If  you  chance  to  lose  your  dollars  and  dimes. 

Oh  !  come  back  ye  days  of  old  forty-nine, 
With  the  canvas  pants,  and  the  dripping  mine, 
Where  judge,  and  lawyer,  friendly  met 
With  brave  mechanics,  where  each  brow  was  wet 
With  honest  toil,  and  each  loved  as  his  life, 
The  little  missives  from  children  and  wife, 
And  woman  was  honored  among  their  fold, 
More  precious  by  far  than  their  well-earned  gold, 
An  idol  to  worship — but  in  these  times, 
They  adore  a  man  for  his  dollars  and  dimes. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  39 

Oh  !  I  turn  in  shame  from  our  modern  ways, 
Give  me  the  kind  hearts  of  the  good  old  days, 
When  a  miner's  shirt  hid  manlier  breast, 
Than  now  is  enrobed  in  a  silken  vest, 
When  man  was  a  man,  though  he  dug  the  sod, 
And  the  foot  of  wealth  was  not  basely  trod 
On  earth's  lowliest  ones — but  help  in  need 
Was  motto  of  all,  when  the  gospel  creed 
Taught  their  duty  to  each,  but  now  the  plan 
Is  to  filch  the  pockets  of  fellow  man. 

Yes,  to  filch  his  pockets  and  turn  him  loose, 
Wben  his  cash  gives  out.     Oh!  men  have  no  use 
For  those  they  have  wronged,  no  grateful  need 
To  offer  you  back  for  a  kindly  deed, 
In  the  times  when  your  coin  was  gladly  lent, 
To  those  who  knew  not  what  gratitude  meant, 
Though  you  their  fortunes  in  life  may  now  carve, 
They  might  leave  your  wife  and  children  to  starve, 
The  heart  grows  earth-sick  amid  these  times, 
When  one  is  loved  for  his  dollars  and  dimes. 

Even  they  of  your  childhood's  household  band, 
Will  forget  to  clasp  with  a  faithful  hand, 
If  your  cash  gives  out  you've  seldom  a  friend, 
Though  you  travel  the  land  from  end  to  end, 
My  soul  turns  away  from  earth's  glitter  and  glare, 
To  those  who  have  climbed  up  the  golden  stair, 


40  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Whose  dear  forms  now  lie  alone  in  the  dust, 
Whose  friendship  was  true,  in  whom  we  could  trust,. 
For  whose  footsteps  we  list'n  in  mem'rys  halls, 
Dearest  of  faces  that  hane*  on  her  walls. 


IN  GRIEF'S  STOKM  CLOUD. 

In  grief's  storm  cloud  there's  a  rifting, 
Where  the  light  of  heaven  is  drifting, 
And  supernal  glories  sifting, 

Into  the  dreary  breast. 

When  we  feel  as  drawing  nearer 

To  Christ's  love,  when  growing  dearer,. 

And  faith's  visions  brighten  clearer, 

As  now,  with  Him,  we  rest. 

All  the  air  with  gladness  thrilling, 
As  a  wild  bird's  gleesome  trilling, 
My  fond  soul  with  rapture  filling, 

Till  earth  an  Eden  glows. 

Cease,  ah!  cease  your  sad  foreboding, 
The  lorn  spirit  ever  goading, 
And  the  heart  forever  loading 

With  fears  of  coming  woes* 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  41 

See,  the  pearly  gates  unf olden, 
And  faith  points  to  mansions,  olden, 
Where  the  shining-  streets  are  golden 
In  the  city  of  the  blest. 

Let  thy  heart,  earth's  trials  scorning, 
With  the  bright  stars  of  the  morning 
Ever  praise  the  lovely  dawning 
Of  God's  eternal  rest. 

Though  the  ones  we  prized  so  dearly, 
And  whose  friendship  shown  so  clearly; 
We  never  dreamt  'twas  merely 

The  motto,  all  for  self. 

Till  the  time  had  come  for  trials, 
And  we  drank  from  fiery  vials, 
But  to  find  as  false  Belials, 

They  loved  us  for  our  pelf. 

And  a  presence  seems  to  move  me 
Into  looking  up  above  me, 
Where  those  hearts  who  truly  love  me 
a  .        At  heaven's  portals  wait. 

Though  earth  were  filled  with  sorrow, 
And  there  seldom  dawns  a  morrow, 
That  does  not  seem  to  borrow 

A  warning  of  sad  fate. 


42  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Of  the  footsteps  worn  and  weary, 
That  once  plod  in  pathways  dreary, 
Without  one  bright  hope  that's  cheery 
To  gild  the  way  of  life. 

Neath  earth's  burdens  ever  bending, 
O'er  care's  thorny  brambles  wending, 
Ever  longing  for  the  ending 

Of  bitterness  and  strife. 

Though  with  bleeding  feet  aye  treading, 
Where  no  rose  breaths  sweet  are  shedding, 
And  the  smile  of  God  is  spreading 
A  glory  as  ye  wend. 

Then  look  up  from  griefs  distressing, 
To  that  day  of  heavenly  blessing, 
Of  a  Saviour's  kind  caressing 

When  time  and  earth  shall  end. 


YOSEMITE. 

The  gates  unbarred  and  the  sword  withheld, 
Yosemite,  as  that  Eden  of  eld, 

Enchants  the  pilgrim's  view; 
Like  that  lovely  garden,  glad  home  of  Eve, 
E'er  Satan  lured  her  to  deceive, 
From  paths  of  virtue  true. 


OF THE 

TJNIVERSITT 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  43 

And  through  its  midst  in  Naiad  song, 
The  shimmering  waters  carol  along, 

Gracefully  sweep  and  glide ; 
While  all  the  meadows  the  wild  flowers  strew, 
Like  coral  beds  of  every  hue; 

That  ocean  caverns  hide. 

Out  in  the  sunshine  gauzily  rolled, 

With  rainbows  braiding  each  spangled  folds, 

The  Bridal  Veil  drips  her  rain; 

While  like  mammoth  monster  in  earthquake  shocks, 
Yosemite  leaps  o'er  the  sullen  rocks, 

Shaking  his  foamy  mane. 

Lo,  the  Virgn's  tears  as  bright  crystals  gleam, 
And  pour  in  a  mournful,  quivering  stream, 

As  if  in  endless  woe; 

Eve  still  wept  the  hour  the  Archangel  came, 
And  from  their  bowers  in  grief  and  shame, 

Bade  our  first  parents  go. 

See  Mirror  Lake,  as  so  mystical  there, 
The  seraphs  penciled  the  landscape  fair, 

With  Morn's  rosy-finger  tipt, 
Daguerreotyped  on  its  waters  lie, 
Trees,  mounts,  and  rocks  and  heaven's  blue  sky, 

Grottoes  and  caverns  crypt. 


44  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Lo,  the  Vernal  fall  glides  as  sea  nymphs  lost, 
That  o'er  the  mountain  are  giddily  tost, 

Shim 'ring  with  gleaming  pearls; 
And  spanning  their  edge  in  shining  bands, 
Seemeth  netted  jewels  in  lacy  strands 

As  it  quaintly  curves  and  curls. 

Nevada's  waters  like  a  shattered  cloud, 

Or  a  drift  of  snowflakes,  the  dark  rocks  shroud 

And  fall  in  diamond  showers; 
As  if  ghostly  elves  from  the  summit  leap 
And  lie  in  a  glistening,  glassy  heap 

Of  bright  immortal  flowers. 

On  Cloud's  Rest  a  splendid  glory  is  lain, 
As  sunset  spatters  a  golden  rain, 

In  a  mesh  of  colors  bright; 
As  if  Heaven's  portals  had  opened  wide, 
And  the  mountain  height  had  glorified, 

With  a  glow  of  celestial  light. 

In  leafy  grottoes  and  mystical  grove, 
The  sunbeams  in  a  gleamy  net-work  wove, 

Their  shining  banners  trail; 
Where  turrets,  and  minarets,  and  tower, 
So  grandly  reared,  proclaim  His  power, 

Who  built  this  lovely  vale? 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  45 

From  the  world's  false  glitter,  fain  would  I  come, 
And  nestle  in  tliee,  thou  Paradise  home. 

Surely  God  meets  us  here ; 
Where  marvelous  nature  each  sense  appalls, 
As  cathedral  domes  and  as  castle  walls, 

His  wondrous  works  appear. 


DOTH  THY  FACE  SPEAK  THY  HEART? 

By  joyous  laugh — and  bright  eyes  glance, 

Seldom  the  inward  soul  ye  tell ; 
It  may  be  pierced  by  sorrow's  lance, 
Though  awhile  it  rests  in  seeming  trance, 
Oh !  nought  may  mem'ry's  pow'r  dispel : 
The  thoughtful  mirror  wherein  ye  see, 
The  past — with  its  joy  or  misery. 

'Twere  right  if  e'er  the  smiling  face, 

Would  speak  a  glad  and  griefless  breast, 
Couldst  look  within  there  ye  may  trace 
Sorrow  hath  found  a  nestling  place, 
Filling  the  heart  with  strange  unrest, 
Wrapping  in  mildew's  withering  blight, 
Where  gleam'd,  we  dreamt,  joy's  sunny  light. 


46  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Ah!  ne'er  should  woes  lie  hidden  deep, 

Within  the  inmost  bosom's  cell, 
O'er  which  the  secret  heart  will  weep, 
And  many  a  dreary  vigil  keep, 

Weaving  a  strange,  unearthly  spell. 

Griefs  that  some  treasur'd  hope  hath  slain, 
That  may  not  spring  to  life  again. 

Falsehood,  thou  direst  wo  to  feel, 

When  those  we  dreamt  so  true  and  kind, 
Try  the  soul  on  an  Ixion  wheel, 
"Till  the  be  wilder 'd  brain  will  reel! 
Like  whirlwind  the  astonish'd  mind  ; 
But  some  there  are — can  bear  with  all, 
'Fore  which  the  feebler  natures  fall. 

A  hapless  maiden  pines  in  vain, 

O'er  perjured  lover's  broken  vow, 
The  spell  her  very  soul  doth  chain, 
Life  seems  a  siege  of  endless  pain, 

And  false  the  smiles  that  wreathe  her  brow, 
She  wastes  on  mortal  that  firm  love, 
She  should  have  placed  on  God  above 

Ambition,  too,  will  moaning  sigh, 
O'er  dying  hopes  by  fancy  nurst, 
Fame's  towers,  in  vision  built  so  high, 
That  now  in  scattered  ruins  lie, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  47 

As  bubbles  in  the  sunlight  burst! 
Yet  smiles  upon  his  face  we  greet, 
That  may  the  keenest  searcher  cheat. 

But  oh !  'tis  wrong  God's  gift  to  slight, 

Of  life — to  pine  o'er  mortal  wo, 
Why  turn  its  sunshine  into  night? 
Why  sear  thy  youth  with  useless  blight  ? 
For  all  Faith's  stars  do  quenchless  glow, 
If  ye  but  trust  our  truest  friend, 
Nor  aye  on  self  too  much  depend. 

Love  not  this  world  too  wildly  well, 

But  seek  with  thankfulness  of  heart, 
All  brooding  discontent  to  quell, 
Cast  from  thy  soul  its  evil  spell, 

The  griefs  long  dead  to  life  may  start ; 
Oh!  fling  them  back  and  still  bear  on, 
Think  all  thy  blessed  Savior's  borne. 


JESSIE  FAUSE  LOVE. 

Young  Jessie  was  a  bashfu'  lass, 

Wi'  locks  o'  chestnut  hue, 
Wi'  dimplin'  chin  and  bloomin'  cheek, 

An'  e'en  o'  bonnie  blue. 


48  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Sae  sweetly 

An'  neatly 
She  deck'd  her  wi'  sic  care, 

Sae  tastily 

An'  chastely, 
Her  ev'ry  look  an  air. 

Her  tiny  feet  cam'  peepin'  out 
Frae  'neath  her  gown  o'  snaw, 

Like  elfies  dartin'  on  your  sight, 
Sae  wee  and  unco'  sma' 

Her  shinir^  teeth, 
Like  pearly  wreath, 

Glint  frae  her  rosy  mou' 

Could  you  but  see, 
You'd  own  wi'  me 

Nae  cantier  lass  ye  knew. 

Her  rounded  throat  and  slender  waist, 

Nae  bonnier  e'er  ye  dream'd, 
Her  forehead  a'  sae  white  an'  high, 
O'  sculptur'd  marble  seem'd. 

Sae  blandly 

An1  grandly 
Her  archin'  brows  were  laid. 

Her  glancin', 

Entrancing 
Her  mirthfu'  heart  betray'd. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Beside  the  waefu'  couch  o'  pain, 
Or  where  lane  anguish  pin'd, 
Wi'  soothin' word,  an'  ruefu'  mien 
The  faithfu'  lass  you'd  find. 

Sae  tearfu' 

An'  fearf u' 
To  see  anither  smart, 

An'  bearin' 

An'  sharin' 
Their  waes  wi'  a'  her  heart. 

Wi'  winnin'  speech  an'  guilefu'  tongue,. 

Wi'  a'  wizard's  art, 

A  f  ause  chield  cam  wi'  flatt'rin'  words, 
An'  won  puir  Jessie's  heart. 

Deceivin' 

An'  leavin' 
Her  sorrowfu'  to  pine. 

Sae  palely 

An'  frailly 
She  drooped  like  a  vine. 

Tho'  sair  her  heart  she  stravc  to  bear 

The  wrang  her  saul  had  met; 

Yet  tears  frae  out  her  dowie  e'en, 

Fu'  aft  her  cheeks  had  wet. 

Sae  faintly 

An'  saintly 


.50  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Her  smile  sae  mournfu'  shone, 
Alake!  alake! 
Her  heart  maist  break, 

Her  peace  o'  mind  had  flown. 

An'  tho',  like  simmer's  clouded  sky, 
Her  way  gat  fu'  o'  gloom, 

Yet  weel  she  kenn'd  'twas  fearf u'  sin 
To  greet  aboon  her  doom; 
An'  mild-like 
An'  child-like 

She  looket  ay  above, 

In  weakness 
Wi'  meekness 

Still  trustin'  in  God's  love. 


BE  GLAD. 

Be  glad,  be  gay,  in  life's  golden  hours, 

While  hope  flushes  the  cheek  and  lights  the  eye; 

For  as  chill  wind's  kiss  will  blight  the  flow'rs, 
As  he  floats  on  his  with 'ring  mission  by. 

So  grief  will  parch  the  rejoicing  heart, 

And  pale  the  cheek  and  smother  the  laugh, 

And  the  soul  will  writhe  'neath  her  taunting  smart, 
Till  the  dregs  of  mis'ry's  chalice  ye  quaff. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  51 

Though  riches  are  thine,  with  friendly  glance, 
Tho5  honor's  laurels  are  wreathing  thy  fame, 

Misfortune  may  come  with  her  poison'd  lance. 
And  the  friend  will  forget  to  breath  thy  name. 

And  death  may  circle  the  cherish'd  form, 
And  stifle  the  voice  thou  hast  loved  to  hear, 

Though  hope  build  her  pile  like  a  beacon  fire, 
Sorrow'll  quench  the  flame  with  her  frosty  tear. 

Though  thy  soul  be  cheer'd  by  a  blissful  dream, 

When  heart  meets  heart,  like  the  beam  and  spray, 

Yet  clouds  may  shadow  the  brightest  stream, 
And  darken  the  light  of  the  fairest  day. 

Tis  a  weary  gift,  the  peaceless  life. 

When  care  ruffles  the  calm  of  the  youthful  breast, 
Like  winds  and  waves  in  boisterous  strife, 

When  the  waters  are  toss'd  in  mad  unrest. 

The  mother  may  gaze  on  her  infant's  brow, 
With  visions  of  glory  he  yet  might  win; 

But  change  may  dim  their  radiant  glow, 
And  that  life  be  traced  in  the  path  of  sin. 

Though  many  may  greet  with  kindly  smile, 
And  the  hours  flit  by  in  unsullied  bliss, 

Yet  lips  thou  hast  deem'd  so  free  from  guile, 
May  but  press  thy  brow  with  a  Judas  kiss. 


Then  be  glad,  be  joyful  while  youth  is  there, 

While  the  heart  speaks  forth  from  the  happy  face; 

Ere  in  the  folds  of  the  glossy  hair, 

The  footprints  of  speeding  time  ye  trace. 

Though  Summer  may  come  with  flowery  bloom, 
With  her  soft'ning  skies  and  genial  showers, 

Yet  Winter  will  follow  with  torpid  gloom, 

As  the  dim  night  steals  on  the  daylight  hours. 

Then  be  glad,  be  gleesome  while  yet  ye  may, 
While  ye  gather  around  the  social  hearth; 

Tho'  life  has  many  a  sunny  way, 

Sorrow  and  sadness  are  types  of  earth. 


THE  REAPER  ANGEL. 

A  thousand  years  in  the  sight  of  God, 
Is  but  one  day  in  the  sight  of  men, 

They  who  treadmill  of  sorrow  have  trod, 
Shall  shine  in  garments  of  whiteness  when 

The  great  Arch  Angel  shall  sound  the  chime, 
That  heralds  to  all  the  end  of  time. 

The  end  of  time  and  the  end  of  woe, 
When  the  tired  hands  shall  folding  rest, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  53 

And  the  lame  shall  walk — the  blind  shall  know 

Blessings  of  sight — millennium  blest, 
When  wrong  shall  not  triumph  over  right, 

When  blossoms  shall  bloom  where  now  there's  blight. 

See  the  rolling  grains  as  banners  sway, 

While  round  them  the  pearly  seedling  weaves, 

As  seeming  to  wait  the  reaping  day, 

When  harvesters  gather  ripening  sheaves; 

And  so  shall  the  longing  soul  await 
The  Reaper  Angel  at  heaven's  gate. 


HOPE. 

From  the  Hades  depths  of  sadness, 
Up  with  shout  of  joy  I  spring. 

To  the  sunny  mount  of  gladness, 
Soaring  forth  on  lightsome  wing. 

Though  the  sharpen'd  blade  of  malice 
Plunges  to  thy  tortur'd  breast, 

Though  the  dregs  of  misery's  chalice 
To  thy  quivering  lips  are  prest, 

Though  of  grief  a  sad  partaker, 
He  who  rules  the  stormy  deeps, 

King  of  Kings,  our  God,  the  Maker, 
Of  the  tiniest  thing  that  creeps, 


54  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Will  not  leave  his  creatures  trusting, 
To  grope  on  in  sorrow's  night, 

Mid  the  taunt  of  envy's  thrusting, 
Or  mid  slander's  poisoned  blight. 

Lone  and  friendless  ever  wand'ring, 
Blindly  left  in  sorrow's  shade, 

Cheerless,  hopeless,  sadly  pond'ring, 
On  the  promises  Christ  made. 

Nay  from  out  grief's  deepest  glooming, 
He  will  lift  thy  soul  from  blight, 

As  His  spirit  burst  earth's  tombing, 
And  soared  up  to  worlds  of  light. 

So  the  heart  with  gladness  filling, 
By  His  love  shall  cheerful  reign, 

The  Christian's  hope  in  pow'r  fulfilling 
As  victor  over  grief  and  pain. 


TOO  LATE. 

I  fear,  alas,  you  will  come  too  late, 

To  ask  the  pardon  your  heart  must  crave, 

Ere  her  soul  starts  out  through  the  door  of  fate, 
Ere  the  sad  face  lies  in  the  voiceless  grave; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  55 

Ah,  speak  at  once  why  you  turned  away, 

With  a  stony  gaze,  a  chilly  stare, 
From  the  one  your  lips  was  wont  to  praise, 

Whose  fate  in  life  you  were  proud  to  share. 

Yes,  he  knoweth  best,  who  knows  us  all, 

Why  you  have  stept  on  the  love  so  tried. 
Yet  o'er  the  mem'ry  but  throw  a  pall, 

And  think  of  the  past  as  one  that's  died, 
Of  one  that's  dead,  and  the  coffin  lid 

Has  shut  forever  above  the  face, 
Where  ev'ry  feature  for  aye  is  hid. 

As. leaving  to  thee  no  mortal  trace, 

Down  in  oblivion's  waters  deep. 

Let's  drop  the  coffin'd  sorrow  to  rest, 
And  pray  that  angels  may  never  reap, 

When  G-od's  harvest  comes,  the  thing  unblest; 
Sorrow  that  lies  there  of  hearts  at  war, 

Who'd  loved  for  many  a  happy  year, 
Till  phantom  came  at  the  open  door, 

The  mother  of  Sin  with  cunning  leer, 

With  a  panther's  step,  and  tiger's  stealth, 
And  whispered  into  your  guileless  ear, 

And  led  you  to  feel  love's  priceless  wealth, 
Was  nought  in  value — the  oily  tongue. 

Of  sin  leading  you  out  in  the  world, 
Where  vice  and  folly  around  you  cling; 


56  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  your  dazed  brain  has  giddily  whirled. 
To  sip  sweets  of  temptation's  din, 

Where  your  manhood  stoop'd  low  in  the  dust, 

So  meshes  of  flatt'rs  rop'dyou  in, 
And  blurr'd  your  soul  with  sin's  cank'ring  rust, 

Yes,  blurred  a  soul  she  had  dream'd  was  white; 
As  snowy  marble,  as  crystal  clear, 

Where  no  wrong  to  her  had  laid  its  blight, 
For  many  a  trusting,  loving  year. 

Yes,  down  in  oblivion's  wat'ry  grave 

As  some  clay  cold  corpse,  let  it  sink  and  reel, 
But  now  ask  the  pardon  your  heart  must  crave, 

Ere  at  feet  of  Christ  thy  soul  shall  kneel, 
In  its  sin  robed  garments  from  earth  gone  out, 

Drifting  afar  in  eternity's  space, 
Shuddering  with  fear,  battling  with  doubt, 

Dreading  to  look  in  that  Savior's  face. 


THE  FISHERMEN. 

The  fishermen  group  on  the  pebbly  beach, 
Where  the  breakers  like  pearly  fingers  reach, 

And  lazily  slide  away. 
As  the  backing  waters  steadily  ebb, 
They  spread  their  nets  as  a  lacey  web, 

In  the  rosy  light  of  day. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  57 

And  standing  there  in  an  even  line, 
Pulling  the  needle  and  drawing  the  twine, 

A  spidery  mesh  they  net, 
And  their  mingling  voices  in  chorus  rings, 
As  each  steadily  works  and  gaily  sings, 

With  never  a  care  or  fret. 

Ah,  Yo!  O!  Ah!  Yo!  and  Yo  heave  O! 
And  launching  our  boats  we  cheerily  row, 

Far  out  o'er  the  waters  deep. 
Where  finny  mackerel  and  scaly  shad, 
In  our  well  wrought  nets  are  easily  had, 

Though  they  toss,  tumble  and  leap. 

Though  they  flout,  and  flutter,  and  quiver,  and  strain, 
In  their  briny  home,  oh,  never  again, 

Will  they  briskly  dart  and  glide. 
With  their  snow  white  breasts  they  gaily  float, 
As  with  finny  sails  like  mermaid  boat, 

They  skim  along  with  the  tide. 

Oh!  away  we  dash  o'er  the  seething  foam, 
Away  from  our  mothers,  our  wife  and  home, 

Cheer  of  our  little  one's  play. 
And  our  sharp  keels  leave  no  lingering  track, 
Of  fishermen's  boats  that  never  come  back, 

Rowed  to  eternity's  bay. 


58  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

But  with  stormy  tempest  and  windy  wift, 
Some  hapless  form  may  yet  hurriedly  drift 

And  dash  on  the  pebbly  sand, 
Away  from  the  dear  ones  that  love  us  best, 
In  a  friendless  grave  among  strangers  to  rest, 

But  safe  in  the  better  land. 


The  sea  shells  lie  'long  the  glist'ning  shore, 
Echoing  forever  with  ocean's  roar, 

Or  sounding  as  distant  bells, 
As  if  the  sea  nymphs  there,  their  harps  had  lost, 
On  the  beach  by  hurrying  breakers  tost, 

Hinging  like  funeral  knells. 


THE  WIFE'S  WELCOME. 

Come  to  me  love  ere  the  daisy  and  buttercup, 

Fair  on  the  meadow  a  rich  carpeting  spreads, 
Come  ere  the  ring-dove  in  love  notes  complaineth, 

Ere  violets  peep  from  their  soft,  grassy  beds. 
Come  as  the  red  sun  sinks  low  in  the  heavens, 

And  eve  with  her  mantle  our  trysting  place  covers, 
While  the  air  is  o'er  burthened  with  oder  of  flowers, 

And  oriole  sinsfeth  its  tribute  to  lovers. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  59 

For  sure  you've  been  true  through  the  years  that  have 
tried  you, 

A  husband — yet  lover — for  aye  and  for  aye. 
E'en  as  Aurora  when  waking  at  dawning, 

Is  met  by  Apollo  to  brighten  her  way, 
Even  so  thy  love  hath  been  light  to  my  pathway, 

Aye  cheering  its  moments  as  sunshine  the  day. 
All  through  the  clouding  and  tempests  of  sorrow, 

It  has  shone  on  my  life  as  a  heav'n-sent  ray. 

Ah,  come  when  the  summer's  fair  lilies  and  roses 

Are  flinging  their  censers  of  sweets  on  the  air, 
While  meadow  lark  low  in  the  soft  grass  reposes, 

Ere  the  corn  hangeth  out  her  bright  yellow  hair. 
Come  while  the  fuchsias  hang  gorgeous  with  blossoms* 

And  seem  as  bright  humming  birds  nestling  in  sleep, 
While  mignonettes  breath  is  scenting  the  twilight, 

And  blossoming  myrtles  o'er  garden  walls  creep. 

Come  while  the  bee  sippeth  sweets  from  the  clover, 

Ere  the  bare  armed  oaks  stand  as  skeletons  grim, 
And  the  morn's  early  frosts  like  diamonds  are  glist'ning, 

And  dainty  quails  low  in  the  dry  grasses  skim. 
Oh  come  while  all  life  is  o'erflowing  with  sweetness, 

In  the  fair  month  of  May  or  blossoming  June, 
While  earth  seems  an  Eden  in  all    its  completeness. 

And  heart  and  all  nature  alike  are  in  tune. 


60  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


HOME-FACES. 

Oh !  how  I  love  the  dear  home-faces, 

That  shone  above  my  childish  day; 
Though  time,  with  swift  and  hurried  paces 

May  bear  me  from  their  light  away. 
Though  some  for  new  love  fly  the  olden, 

Too  fondly  trusting  the  untried — 
The  old,  that  gleamed  like  sunshine  golden, 

And  should  have  been  most  deified. 

I  can't  forget  the  deeds  of  kindness 

That  through  life  has  eased  my  part; 
I  might  have  groped  in  hapless  blindness 

For  a  true  and  faithful  heart. 
I  cannot  turn  from  tried  affections, 

That  have  served  through  many  a  year — 
That  have  lit  with  bright  reflections 

All  my  weary  pathway  here. 

How  I  love  them  without  measure, 

And  dread  our  lives  to  drift  apart; 
Though  God  has  blest  me  with  that  treasure- 

A  tried  and  faithful  human  heart; 
But  though  other  love  enfold  me, 

Of  husband  and  of  children  fond, 
Still,  those  dear,  kind  faces  hold  me 

With  a  mighty,  heaven-wrought  bond. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  61 

Still  they  shine,  in  rainbow  glory, 

Pictures  in  sad  Memory's  bowers, 
Like  some  well  remembered  story, 

That  we've  conned  in  by -gone  hours. 
And  if  fate  our  lives  must  sever, 

My  fond  soul  will  look  back  still — 
To  gaze  on  those  dear  faces  ever, 

That  ghost-like  stand  at  Memory's  sill. 


CHEER  EARTH'S  SAD  HEARTS. 

Cheer  earth's  sad  hearts  nor  hopelessly  despond, 

Though  sorrow's  cup  your  quivering  lips  have  drained 
Faith's  balm  can  heal  the  saddest  torturing  wound 

That  e'er  a  fainting  mortal  soul  hath  pained. 
Though  false  the  look  that  once  could  so  entrance, 

Though  false  the  words  that  once  could  so  beguile, 
The  light  of  truth  beams  from  our  Saviour's  glance, 

And  pure  affection  crowns  his  tender  smile. 

Though  envy's  serpent  tongue  would  blast  thy  fame, 
Though  whispering  malice  would  fond  hearts  divide, 

At  last  defamers  shall  bow  low  in  shame, 

And  plead  the  rocks  their  guilty  souls  to  hide. 

Though  thou  hast  seen  the  loved  by  death  struck  down, 
And  standest  alone  within  this  weary  world; 


62  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

The  sun  must  shine,  though  clouds  awhile  may  frown, 
So  yet  for  thee  joy's  bow  may  be  unfurled. 

Though  stitch,  by  stitch,  thy  food  is  earned  each  day, 

And  hungry  babes  may  cry  to  thee  for  bread, 
Oh,  pray,  and  God  will  ope  a  brighter  way. 

"Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given/'  Emanuel  said. 
'Pis  best,  like  Lazarus  to  have  suffered  much, 

Nor  like  Dives  be  reckless  of  your  soul  ; 
Christ  still  can  heal,  as  they  who  once  could  touch 

His  garment's  hem,  found  all  their  plagues  made  whole. 

Though  pale  disease  is  sapping  health  and  life, 

And  melancholy  seems  thy  constant  guest, 
Let  these  words  cheer,  'mid  sickness'  racking  strife : 

Jehovah  chasteneth  those  he  loveth  best, 
Yes,  meekly  bow  to  every  earthly  blight, 

Though  thy  brow  wears  the  thorny  crown  of  care, 
Let  faith  sustain  'mid  pain  or  sorrow's  night; 

Aye,  look  above — eternal  joy  is  there. 

Oh!  blessed  Lord,  without  thy  helping  hand, 

How  could  some  m^et  their  woes,  the  traitor's  sting, 
But  'mid  all  trials  hopes  of  that  "better  land/' 

Help  the  bruised  heart  unto  Thy  cross  to  cling. 
Shall  not  the  souls  that  seek  the  narrow  way, 

And  patient  strive  to  do  a  Christian  part, 
Look  on  Thy  face  amid  that  endless  day, 

Thy  holy  promise  to  the  pure  in  heart. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  63 

Then  cheer  sad  hearts  nor  sorrowing  repine; 

With  faith's  pure  shield  march  on  through  all  your  cares; 
Though  now  the  thorny  wreath  your  temples  twine, 

He  wins  heaven's  crown  who  most  earth's  burthen  bears. 
Though  poverty  may  be  your  hopeless  fates, 

Though  want  shall  tear  the  threads  of  life  apart, 
Seraphs  for  each  shall  ope  the  shining  gates, 

And  Jesus  fold  you  to  his  sinless  heart. 


JULY  D BEAMINGS— A  CALIFOKNIA  IDYL. 

Oh!  Summer,  fling  your  richest  beams 
Where  Flora  gorgeous  carpet  layeth! 

For  my  poor  heart  is  filled  with  dreams, 

As  back  in  thought's  bright  realm  it  stray eth. 

Sick  of  the  tedious  commonplace, 

Of  household  cares  that  have  no  ending; 

So,  Fancy,  let  us  have  a  race 

Through  thy  gay  paths  so  gladly  wending. 

Tune  your  sweet  castanets,  ye  rills, 

While  ripple  with  the  sunbeam  dances; 

Wake  violets  and  daffodils, 

Grouping  like  fays  in  swooning  trances. 


64  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Nature  a  levee  holds  for  me, 

For  I  am  sorrowful  and  weary; 
Bright  birds,  pour  forth  your  songs  of  glee, 

Chirp  not  one  note  that  soundeth  dreary. 

In  cozy  languor  on  the  ground, 

"Lets  keep  no  house"  cries  snail,  slow  straying; 
When  like  a  brazen  trumpet's  sound, 

A  donkey  trilled  his  doleful  braying; 

The  deer  sighs  from  his  forest,  "Come 
And  join  with  me  in  ceaseless  roving;" 

The  beetles  wand'ring  cheerful  hum, 
"Don't  ape  the  ants  so  labor  loving." 

Let's  have  a  feast  of  thought  and  rhyme, 
Pansy  platters,  purple  and  golden; 

In  cedar  bower,  'mid  scent  of  thyme, 
Our  goblets  lily  bells  unf olden. 

What  shall  our  dishes  be  for  sweets? 

The  flow'r  with  nectar  running  over, 
What  if  our  feasting  the  queen  bee  cheats! 

We'll  gaily  sip  the  honey'd  clover. 

Gladiolus  seem  like  blossomed  swords, 

.    While  rosebuds  peep  through  veil  of  mosses, 

The  sailor  frog  the  streamlet  fords 

And  corn  hangs  out  her  pale  green  flosses; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  65 

Verbenas  white  and  red  arrayed, 

Seem  fairy  knights,  a  tournament  holding, 

Or  elfin  army  in  grand  parade, 

With  fluttering  banners,  and  flags  unfolding. 

The  doves  are  gathering  on  the  roof. 

As  if  in  congress  great  convening; 
The  silkworm  spins  her  shining  woof, 

The  crows  the  ripened  fields  are  gleaning. 

As  neighbors  met  for  social  talk, 

The  grouping  quails  so  noisy  clatter, 

With  chignon'd  heads  and  primping  walk, 
They  ape  our  belles,  e'en  in  their  chatter. 

Her  silver  lace  the  spider  weaves, 

The  linnet  in  the  tall  pine  singeth, 
And  high  'mid  old  oaks  shining  leaves 

The  oriole  her  cradle  swingeth. 

While  Boss  pours  forth  her  milk  so  white, 

As  molten  pearls  so  richly  shining; 
Pomona,  like  some  wi^,rd  sprite, 

The  full  bunched  grapes  is  deftly  twining. 

Gooseberries  hang  like  scaly  gems, 
Currents  as  strings  of  rubies  shimmer; 

Raspberries  grow  from  emerald  stems, 

While  from  the  earth  strawberries  glimmer; 


60  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Passion-vine  leaves  as  fingers  spread, 

Like  Turkish  mosques  each  flower  standeth 

The  roses  shake  'neath  humming-birds  tread, 
As  wing'd  elves  at  their  portals  landeth. 

Yon  chrysalis,  like  sculptured  tomb, 

With  sudden  pulse  it  heaves  and  shaketh, 

And  bursting  forth  as  from  death's  gloom, 
A  butterfly  to  life  awaketh, 

With  velvet  wings  of  dusky  brown, 

Spotted  with  blue  and  golden  rimming, 

No  empress  boasts  a  fairer  gown, 

Or  decks  her  with  more  gorgeous  trimming. 

In  dreams  we'll  haste  o'er  woodland  trail, 
Or  danger's  cliffs  with  rapture  hieing; 

Yosemite,  to  thy  weird  vale, 

'Tween  mammoth  mounts  so  grandly  lying. 

Thou  loved  retreat,  thy  matchless  charms, 
Kindled  my  soul  with  inspiration 

When  first  you  oped  your  stony  arms 
To  me  an  atom  of  creation. 

Thy  falls  like  melted  diamond  seas, 

As  gods  were  thunders'  anvils  ringing; 

And  spreading  white  tress's  to  the  breeze, 
As  naiads  from  the  high  cliffs  springing. 


FANCY  b   ETCHINGS.  t 

Thy  pond'rous  walls  and  parapets, 

Where  tower  on  tower  is  lapped  or  folden, 

Thy  reaching  spires  and  minarets 
Seem  like  the  works  of  giants  olden. 

By  Mirror  lake  we  build  our  camp, 

Where  like  phantom  bark  weird  firefly  saileth, 
WThere  glow-worm  trims  her  mystic  lamp, 

As  day's  amethyst  in  splendor  paleth. 

How  shall  our  sylvan  board  be  decked  ? 

With  richest  fruits  and  dainty  flowers ; 
Bring  ferns,  and  pinks,  with  purple  flecked, 

Such  as  would  suit  the  dryads'  bowers. 

Where  daisies  gleam  like  fallen  stars, 
Shall  be  our  carpet's  grassy  nettings; 

And  we'll  have  for  branch  candelabras, 
Tiger  lilies  with  jetty  settings; 

Wide-mouthed  trumpet  beaker  shall  be 

To  quaff  the  stream  where  frost-king  lingers, 

We  sip  the  flood  with  ecstacy, 

Fresh  from  touch  of  his  icy  fingers. 

Back  to  the  actual,  the  real, 

From  Fancy's  bright,  enraptured  roving; 
I  wake  to  know  and  thankful  feel, 

I  dwell  amid  the  true,  the  loving, 


68  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  listening  to  the  wild  bees  hum, 
I  busy  unto  his  lay  respond — 

'Mid  trials  of  an  earthly  home, 

Dream  of  that  glorious  world  beyond. 


OUE    ANGEL   BOY.* 

One  Christmas  morn  there  nestled  near  my  heart, 

A  fair-browed  babe,  just  blossomed  unto  earth; 
While  voice  of  praise,  and  anthem  song  proclaimed 

The  blessed  tidings  of  our  Saviour's  birth. 
My  soul  was  filled  with  joy  unspeakable 

That  holy  sabbath  morn,  for  gift  so  sweet; 
The  day  our  Lord  was  born,  my  babe  was  given  to  me — 

This  Christmas  sits  he  at  the  Saviour's  feet. 

With  streaming  eyes  and  whit'ning  lips  I  kneel, 

And  humbly  cry:  "My  God,  thy  will  be  done!  " 
Yet  'twas  the  bitterest  sorrow  of  my  life, 

To  see  death  smite  our  babe,  our  gentlest  one; 
And  my  strong  mother-love  goes  reaching  out 

In  the  far  depths  of  vast  eternity, 
In  search  of  him,  my  boy,  my  precious  one, 

Who  seems  by  loss  made  doubly  dear  to  me. 


"Charles  Francis  Cook— Born   Christmas   Day,    1870;   died  October 
24th,  1877. 


5 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  69 

My  Savior,  take  our  lamb,  our  lovely  one, 

And  fold  him  safely  to  thy  pitying  breast; 
After  the  weary,  suffering  pangs  of  death, 

In  thy  blest  home,  sweet  Jesus,  give  him  rest. 
Shall  he  not  'mong  the  ransomed  dwell  with  thee? 

To  trust  thy  promise,  Oh,  give  me  grace! 
To  know  that,  nestling  near  the  great  white  throne, 

He  now  beholds  our  holy  Father's  face! 

But  as  we  count  our  household  daily  o'er, 

Still  our  'reft  hearts  will  murmur:  "We  are  seven;" 
Though  at  our  board  there  stands  a  vacant  chair, 

One  feasts,  we  know,  with  angels  up  in  heaven. 
Of  such  thou  saidst  thy  sinless  kingdom  were, 

And  that  thy  flock  should  know  their  Shepherd's  voice. 
Didst  thou  not  call  our  loved  one  to  thy  fold, 

And  bid  him  in  thy  Paradise  rejoice? 

Thou  spirit  blest!     Thy  dying  eyes  met  mine 

In  sad  farewell.     The  ransomed  soul  revealed, 
'T  was  glorified,  in  that  resplendent  gaze, 

Ere  life's  eclipse  thy  lids  forever  sealed. 
Oh,  gates  of  pearl!  were  ye  not  left  ajar, 

That  our  dear  angel  might  go  softly  in? 
Seraphic  hosts !  did  not  your  songs  of  joy 

Welcome  our  boy,  that  bore  no  taint  of  sin? 

A  crown  of  jewels  God  gave  unto  me — 
The  worthy  crown  of  tender  motherhood; 


70  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

But  one  was  taken  back  by  him  who  gave, 

Who  made  all  things,  and  said  his  work  was  good. 

Was  I  not  worthy  of  so  rare  a  charge 
As  this  my  gem,  that's  taken  from  my  crown? 

While  I  in  sorrow's  sackcloth  wrap  my  heart, 
And  in  grief's  ashes  humbly  bow  me  down. 

And  say:  "Almighty  God,  thy  will  be  done!  " 

Trusting  the  hand  that  smites  will  heal  and  bless. 
'Mid  clouds  of  anguish,  bow  of  promise  gleams, 

That  tells:    "I  will  not  leave  ye  comfortless." 
Not  comfortless,  good  Lord,  not  comfortless; 

Though  hearts  may  ache,  and  heads  in  weeping  bow, 
We  know  our  dear  one  walks  thy  shining  courts, 

And  glory's  halo  crowns  his  cherub  brow. 


MEMORIAL— MY  BROTHER. 

Upon  life's  troubled  river,  a  wrecked  and  shattered  vessel, 

Lay  tossing  so  wearily  upon  the  waters  wide; 
The  angry  waves  around  it  like  battl'ing  furies  wrestle; 

Who  will  cut  the  moorings  loose,  and  guide  it  o'er  the  tide? 
Ah!  who  but  He,  the  Lord,  Christ,  can  hush  the  tempest's 

pinings — 

Can  loose  the  wrecked  craft's  mooring,  and  guide  it  to 
that  shore  ? 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  71 

We  look  across  the  waters,  and  think  we  see  the  shinings 

Of  the  glory  that  enwraps  thy  soul,  now  and  evermore; 
And  we  know  our  sainted  dear  ones  among  that  spirit  band, 
Will  welcome  thee  with  gladness  unto  their  beaming  strand. 

And  I'm  thinking,  I'm  thinking,  and  haplessly  I'm  weeping, 

While  twilight's  gloomy  shadows  across  the  garden  fall — 
Of  our  dear  one,  who  meekly,  so  placidly  lay  sleeping, 

Hid  'neath  the  foldings  of  the  solemn  funeral  pall, 
Of  the  kindly  face  there  lying — the  waxen  hands  they  folded, 

That  can  ne'er  clasp  my  own  in  true  tenderness  again. 
The  brow  so  white,  and  chiseled — the  features  death  had 
moulded, 

To  such  look  of  holy  calmness,  they  bear  no  trace  of  pain — 
Of  the  cruel  pain  that  slew  him,  that  cut  life's  cords  apart, 
And  hushed  for  aye  the  beating  of  my  gentle  brother's  heart. 

Such    mournful  days  we  watched  him,  weary  nights  we 
waited, 

In  such  hopelessness  and  anguish — agonizing  fear, 
While  every  morn  seemed  gloomy  and  every  hour  seemed 

freighted 

With  fell-destroyer's  message  we  shudd'ring  felt  was  near; 
Oh!  wretched  time  of  mourning,  of  such  boding,  such  dread 
ing, 

As  we  saw  the  whit'ning  temples,  mark'd  the  fainting 
breath — 

Saw  the   pale  shades  waving,  and  like  ghostly  moonlight 
spreading, 

O'er  lovely  brow  and  features,  ghastliness  of  death; 


72  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  we  tried  with  humble  faith  to  think  that  it  was  best, 
That  Christ  —pitying  Saviour — should  call  thee  home  to  rest. 

We  pray  to  Him,  the  Holy  One;  prayed  Him  as  a  blessing, 

To  take  thee  from  thy  suffering,  and  gather  to  his  fold, 
One  whose  works  shone  out  before  him,  then,  with  sad 
distressing, 

We  fain  had  held  thee  here,  when  the  dews  so  chill  and  cold 
Came  stealing  o'er  thy  forehead,  in  our  anguished  sorrow, 

In  all  thy  pain  and  suff 'ring,  we  fain  had  held  thee  here — 
From  the  golden  land  of  promise — the  glorious  to-morrow — 

While  the  pearly  gates  stood  open,  to  that  happier  sphere; 
And  thy  feet  were  on  the  threshold — our  frail  human  love, 
Held  thee  on  life's  thorny  path,  from  God  and  Heaven  above. 

Sweetest    anthem-singing  linnets,   chant    from    woodland 

bowers, 

While  gorgeous  flow'rs  emblazon  hillside  and  the  plain, 
And  the  drowsy  owlets' nodding,  where  twilight's  hazing 
lower; 

While  wild  bees'  hum  and  crickets'  chirp  mingle  choral 
strain, 

These  blithe  voices  of  glad  nature's  glorious  melody, 
Thou  ever  seemest  to  love,  oh,  brother  mine,  so,  dear; 

And  as  I  think,  and  dream,  in  memory's  imagery, 

Comest  thou,  with   kindly  glance,  and  words    of    hope 
and  cheer; 

Thou  heaven-inspired  soul,  who  with  ever  patient  care, 
My  many  sorrows  soothed,  and  taught  me  how  to  bear. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  73 


THE  CARNIVAL  OF  SUMMER. 

The  Hollyhock  her  glowing  flagon  rears, 
Pearl  blazoned  with  Night's  translucent  tears, 

Gleaming  with  myriad  gems; 
While  mimicing  Sol  in  his  noon-day  blaze, 
The  Sunflowers  their  brazen  helmets  raise 

High  on  their  stalwart  stems. 

The  Morning  Glory  holds  her  beaker  up, 
And  the  Pink  opens  wide  her  rosy  cup, 

A  shimmer  of  giist  ning  dew; 
The  Verbenas  gather  in  fay-like  band; 
The  Larkspurs  in  soldierly  rankings  stand 

In  their  coats  of  army  blue. 

Like  a  blushing  maid,  sudden  waked  from  sleep, 
Lo  !  the  morn  looks  over  yon  mountain  steep 

And  a  rosy  net  work  will  spin; 
At  flask  of  Blue  Bell  the  saucy  Wren  sipt, 
And  the  Woodpecker  chiseled  his  tiny  cript 

And  buried  the  acorn  within. 

The  Marigold  flutters  her  yellow  locks, 
And  the  Zephyr's  rude  caressing  mocks, 

With  deftest  coquetry; 
Kissing  the  lips  of  the  Daisy  he'll  pass, 
As  she  coyful  hides  'mid  the  tangled  grass, 

For  a  truant  lover  is  he. 


74  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Then  lie  danced  'mong  the  Hawthorn's  shim 'ring  leaves 
Where  a  JSpider  a  shining  net  work  weaves, 

Tangling  her  silken  threads; 
And  flinging  it  out  in  the  glittering  air, 
Oh  !  he  rent  it  here,  and  he  rent  it  there, 

In  a  thousand  gieamy  shreds. 

He  dallied  awhile  with  the  Lily  white, 
As  she  stood  in  her  bridal  robes  bedight, 

With  their  cream-hued  satin  gloss; 
While  the  Passion  Flower  reared  her  chapel  shrine. 
The  Apostles  twelve,  and  the  holy  sign 

Of  the  cross,  the  blessed  cross; 

And  the  Tulip  tossing  her  haughty  head, 
Her  purple  skirts  in  the  sunshine  spread, 

As  wooing  the  Honey  Bee; 

But  the  Rose  'neath  folds  of  her  pink  hued  vest 
Clasped  the  traitor  knight  to  her  pulsing  breast, 

In  a  dream  of  ecstasy. 

The  Humming  Bird  richest  nectar  drank 
From  the  Honey-Suckles  wine  hued  tank, 

Flitting  from  flower,  to  flower; 
And  the  Kosignol  trilled  his  sweetest  plaint, 
As  hymning  to  heaven  his  morning  chant, 

From  the  Elm  tree's  leafy  bower. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  75 

Blazoned  with  jasper,  garnet,  and  gold, 
The  Butterfly's  crimpPd  flounces  unfold 

With  nonchalant  dainty  grace ; 
And  with  'broider'd  bodice,  and  royal  trail, 
A  beauteous  queen  is  our  stately  Quail, 

As  she  steps  with  haughty  pace. 

The  Oleander  her  perfumed  censer  swings, 
And  her  incense  sweet  in  fragrance  flings, 

Scenting  the  morning  air; 
While  the  Violet's  fair  like  saintly  eyes 
Gaze  sweetly  up  to  the  eternal  skies, 

In  seeming  faith,  and  prayer. 

See  the  Lilac  raises  her  plumed  head, 
And  like  beaded  coral  the  Sumac  red 

Waves  in  the  light  of  day; 
And  the  Corn  shaketh  out  her  amber  skeins, 
And  the  Squirrels  sport  'mid  the  rip'ning  grains- 

In  speckled  suits  of  grey. 

Lo  !  the  Cherry  blossoms  and  Apples  blow, 
Have  sheeted  the  earth  like  a  shroud  of  snow. 

And  Peach's  delicate  bloom; 
O'er  the  whitened  mass  so  richly  spread, 
Seem  like  roses  strewn  o'er  the  blessed  dead, 
Robed  for  the  solemn  tomb. 


76  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

The  Meadow  Lark  wrapped  in  her  striped  coat, 
With  spotted  tippet,  and  necklaced  throat, 

Carrols  melifluous  songs, 
While  the  Robin  in  slate-hued  Talma  drest, 
With  bright-red  apron  athwart  her  breast, 

The  choral  hymn  prolongs. 

The  sluggish  waters  all  solemnly  reach 

Like  mammoth  tongues,  up  the  pebbly  beach, 

Shivering  their  frosty  tips; 

Where,  with  endless  echoes,  the  bright  shells  sound, 
And  the  Sea  Gull  wheeleth  giddily  round, 

And  into  the  water  dips. 

The  Buttercups  bright  in  their  yellow  frocks, 
And  the  dreaming  chalice  of  Four-u'clocks, 

Manzanita's  waxen  urns, 
And  the  Daffodils,  and  the  Mignonette, 
And  the  flamed-dyed  Lily  all  necked  with  jet, 

Carnation  that  glows,  and  burns; 

The  Jasmine,  and  Myrtle,  with  odor  sweet, 
And  Orange  blossoms  so  chastely  neat, 

The  Trumpet  so  widely  blown; 
The  gorgeons  Cactus  with  stately  air, 
That  as  proudly  sits  in  his  thorny  chair 

As  emperor  on  his  throne, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  77 

And  the  nun-like  mole  in  her  rayless  cell, 

That  lost  to  earth's  pleasures  must  drearily  dwell, 

In  a  life  of  mystery . 

The  priestly  Raven  in  cassock,  and  cowl, 
The  widow'd  dove,  and  monk-like  Owl, 

All  join  in  the  festive  glee. 

With  carol,  and  laugh,  the  glittering  rills 
Like  silver  ribbons  are  belting  the  hills, 

With  glistening  silver  bands, 
While  carpeting  mountain,  valley  and  plain, 
See  the  glorious  Wild  flowers  choicely  lain, 

As  painted  by  angel  hands, 

The  tall  Grass  waves  like  billowy  seas, 

And  the  Buckeyes,  like  banners  in  the  breeze, 

Flutter  in  marshall  pride; 

Soon  the  Grapes  shall  gleam  like  emerald  gems, 
And  the  Currants  cluster  on  their  stems, 

Peach  don  its  buckskin  hide. 

Like  lovely  mosaic  of  varied  dye, 
Yon  Dahlia  stands,  as  on  minaret  high, 

Some  gorgeous  Moslem  tower. 
The  Peonies  in  crimson  vestments  decked, 
Geranium  by  amethyst  tinges  flecked, 

O'er  lowly  blossoms  tower. 


78  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Like  a  ghostly  bark,  from  the  spirit  land, 
With  gossamer  sails,  and  by  specters  manned, 

A  cloud  o'er  heaven  is  blown; 
While  the  Linnet  her  mate  to  the  banquet  calls, 
Where  the  Cherries  swing  their  polished  balls, 

And  the  Nectarine  rounds  its  zone, 

The  spotted  Trout  slides  'long  the  streamlet's  bank, 
Fluttering  in  many  an  antic  prank, 

As  mocking  the  mermaid's  dance, 
And  feasting  upon  the  tissue-like  fly, 
That  like  Goblin  Elves  on  the  waters  lie. 

Where  the  brightest  sunbeams  lance. 

See  the  Ants  by  base  of  the  forest  trees, 
All  gathered  in  thriving  colonies, 

Their  cone-like  mansions  raise; 
That  high  o'er  the  puny  builder  lowers, 
Even  like  Egypt's  wonderous  towers, 

O'er  hosts  of  ancient  days. 

Quaint  architects  too,  are  the  Swallows  brown, 
As  they  hastily  rear  their  homely  town 

Of  wigwams  the  eaves  below; 

While  the  Whip'o-will  her  plaintive  octave  sings, 
And  the  Oriole  her  tiny  hammock  swings, 

High  on  the  locust  bough. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  79 

Lo!  the  wily  Hawk,  that  like  dastard  foe, 
So  unerring  strikes  his  treacherous  blow, 

And  the  wasp  with  stinted  waist; 
And  the  deer  in  his  cozy,  Lapland  wrap, 
The  Bat  in  his  leather  jacket  and  cap, 

The  Rabbit  so  kindly  faced. 

And  the  Cow  with  wondering,  thoughtful  mien, 
And  the  young  Lambs  gamboling  on  the  green , 

The  Goats  in  wandering  ranks, 
The  Gold  Finch  in  his  blouse  of  orange  hue, 
And  the  Jays  in  kilts  of  bonniest  blue, 

Sporting  in  airy  pranks. 

In  stalactial  chambers  of  the  deep 
The  finny  tribes  too,  this  festival  keep, 

'Mid  grottoes  and  glistening  caves, 
Where  perchance  the  Naiads  in  mystical  homes, 
Crowned  with  minaret  towers,  and  coral  domes, 

Dwell  'neath  the  glitt'ring  waves, 

In  a  colorless  sack,  or  purple  suit, 

On  the  Fig  trees  nestle  the  infant  fruit, 

Close  to  the  branches  prest; 
While  Strawberries  like  clustering  jewels  seem, 
And  Blackberries  in  ebon  jet-drops  gleam. 

On  fair  earth's  verdant  breast. 


80  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

The  Gooseberry  as  globe -of  amber  swings, 
The  Elder  her  pebbly  fruitage  brings, 

The  Ivy  spreadeth  her  leaves; 
The  Canary  sporteth  in  lemon  surtout, 
The  Mocking  Bird  whistles  his  liquid  flute, 

Her  basque  the  Silk-Worm  weaves. 

The  Gage  and  Apricot  soon  shall  come, 
With  the  Nectarine  and  delicious  Plum, 

And  bedeck  the  orchard  trees; 
The  Apple  shall  ripen,  as  by  magic  spells, 
And  the  Pears  shall  dangle  like  golden  bells, 

Swung  by  the  wandering  breeze. 

The  bright  fields  glow  with  wakening  charms, 
And  the  spinach  spreads  her  brawny  palms — 

Celery  like  tapers  stands; 
The  Peas  open  wide  their  ripening  pods, 
And  the  Beans  hang  out  their  dangling  rods, 

Like  mystic  linger  wands. 

The  stilted  Grasshopper  goes  hurrying  by, 
While  like  rubies  spilt  the  Lady  Bugs  lie 

'Mong  leaves  in  the  sunny  light; 
The  Beetles  in  armor  of  golden  mail, 
And  the  downy  Miller  so  fair  and  frail, 

Is  cloaked  in  dimity  white 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  81 


See  the  Kildee  bird  that  with  gestures  light, 
Like  a  Peri  Nymph,  or  a  fairy  sprite, 

Skips  where  the  brooklets  gleam; 
And  with  airy  motions,  quivers  and  flirts, 
And  giddily  dippeth  her  trailing  skirts, 

Into  the  shining  stream. 

As  the  crimson  splendors  of  sunset  pale, 
The  laced  wing'd  Moths  in  the  twilight  sail, 

'Mong  hazy  beams  of  the  west; 
And  look  like  distant  ships  far  out  at  sea, 
That  the  tiniest  Moats  seem  but  to  be, 

On  ocean's  heaving  breast. 

The  Cricket  in  habit  of  dusty  brown, 

And  the  Katy-did  robed  in  her  silken  gown, 

Her  tunic  of  daintiest  green; 
All  plaintively  join  in  the  choral  hymn, 
While  the  stars  their  vestal  tapers  trim, 

'Round  Night  the  Ethiope  Queen. 

The  Labelula  wooed  to  the  Poppies  nest, 
All  lazily  swaying,  swooned  to  rest, 

Lulled  by  her  breath  to  sleep; 
And  never  awoke  as  he  dreamily  heard 
The  psalm  of  the  Vesper's  twilight  bird 

Ring  through  the  forest  deep. 


82  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

The  full-eyed  Frog,  in  his  mottled  sack, 
With  silver  facings  and  streaked  back, 

As  an  Evil  Geni  seems; 

While  in  Elfin  watch-fires  through  the  night 
The  Glow  Worm  kindles  her  beacon  light 

In  vivid,  flashing  beams. 

The  milky-way  spreadeth  o'er  heaven's  floor, 
As  with  diamond  sands  it  were  dusted  o'er, 

Or  jewel  pennant  unfurled; 
Lo!  like  fiery  snake  yon  meteor  ran, 
And  constellations  fill  His  wond'rous  plan 

Who  formed  each  rolling  world. 

When  the  flowers,  and  herd,  and  kine  rejoice, 
Oh!  shall  we  not  join  with  jubilant  voice 

To  greet  this  lovely  time; 
Thy  carnival,  sweet  Summer,  season  fair, 
Sure  the  Seraphs  are  singing  in  the  air, 

To  hail  thy  golden  prime. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  83 


LAUGH  AND  BE  GAY. 

Laugh,  laugh  and  be  gay, 
Yes,  laugh  while  ye  may, 

And  ne'er  nurse  the  demon  of  sorrow. 
Though  clouds  of  to-day 
May  dim  the  sun's  ray 

Twill  as  brightly  shine  on  the  morrow 

Let  no  thought  of  ill, 
Mirth's  carolling  still; 

Ne'er  harbor  the  spectre  of  sadness, 
List,  the  joy-shouting  trill 
Of  the  twittering  rill, 

Is  mur'ring  forever  of  gladness. 

Aye  morns  rosy  light 
Is  followed  by  night, 

In  nature's  mysterious  changing. 
So  some  evil  sprite, 
Earth's  friendship  may  blight, 

For  some  hearts  are  given  to  ranging. 

With  sorrow's  alloy 
Ne'er  pleasures  destroy, 

Nor  o'ershadow  the  beauty  of  earth; 
Though  vexations  annoy, 
Aye  revel  in  joy, 

And  still  cherish  the  spirit  of  mirth. 


84  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

The  present  ne'er  doom. 
To  visions  of  gloom; 

All  forebodings  of  misery  spurn; 
Ne'er  dream  of  the  tomb, 
In  the  heart's  freshen'd  bloom, 

But  with  joy  to  futurity  turn. 

Ah!  ne'er  have  fear, 
But  be  of  good  cheer, 

And  the  cup  of  contentment  still  quaff; 
While  those  that  are  dear 
Are  hovering  near, 

To  join  in  the  innocent  laugh! 

O'er  the  sky's  stormy  plain, 
Formed  of  sunshine  and  rain, 

The  bright  bow  of  promise  is  given; 
So  joy  and  so  pain — 
Form  a  glittering  chain, 

That  anchors  our  hopes  up  in  heaven. 

Not  jewels,  or  gold, 
Nor  riches  untold, 

Can  e'er  purchase  that  Kingdom  above; 
In  hunger  and  cold, 
'Mong  poverty's  fold, 

Jesus  seeketh  the  Lambs  of  his  love. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  85 

Sad  mortal,  ne'er  spurn 
The  beings  that'  yearn 

To  brush  from  thy  pathway  the  clouds. 
But  gratefully  tarn 
To  the  bosoms  that  yearn 

To  soothe  when  the  spirit  is  bowed. 

The  best  friends  are  those 
Who  comfort  our  woes, 

And  not  they  who  but  share  in  our  cheer. 
Where  the  brightest  light  shows, 
Moths  bask  in  its  glows, 

But  a  friend  in  night's  sorrow  is  near. 

'Tis  well  he  who  heeds 
Faith  and  good  deeds, 

And  his  mite  with  the  needy  aye  shares. 
Yes,  though  thy  good  seeds 
Are  smothered  by  weeds, 

Our  God  Imoweth  who  soweth  the  tares! 


SOMEBODY'S  DAUGHTER. 

Somebody's  daughter,  a  thing  of  clay, 
On  slab  at  a  Morgue  helplessly  lay, 
No  one  to  claim  her  the  live  long  day. 


;86  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Somebody's  eyes  had  been  wet  with  tears, 
And  somebody's  heart  had  ached  with  fears, 
As  mother  look'd  back  o'er  the  hapless  years. 

When  her  child  went  forth  a  bride  forsooth, 
With  cheeks  ablush,  with  radiant  youth, 
Plighting  her  troth  with  the  vow  of  truth. 

But  time  sped  on,  and  as  swift  years  ran, 
The  bridegroom  forgot  the  marriage  ban, 
The  youth  had  become  a  harden'd  man. 

'The  heartless  dastard,  heedlessly  hurl'd, 
A  helpless  wife,  alone  on  the  world 
Where  river  of  life  giddily  swirl'd. 

And  her  nut  brown  hair,  and  e}res  of  blue, 
Were  sold  for  bread,  but  nobody  knew, 
But  one  who  lured  her  from  virtue  true. 

With  blandishing  word  of  pay  for  toil, 

A  simple  copyist,  naught  to  soil 

Her  lovely  hands— but  the  serpents'  coil. 

Branded  his  victim  day  after  day, 
"Till  woke  to  fear  as  tigress  at  bay, 
To  find  she'd  stray'd  from  the  beaten  way. 


87 


With  none  to  help  her,  no  one  to  care, 

She  woke  in  a  crazy,  mad  despair, 

To  feel  she  was  trapped  in  a  demon's  lair. 

And  she  took  the  life,  a  good  God  gave, 

With  none  to  tell  of  Him  that  could  save, 

'Ere  she  lay  at  Morgue  for  pauper's  grave. 

No  Christian  sister  to  pour  in  light, 

Of  the  home,  where  souls  are  washed  so  white, 

By  a  Saviour's  blood  from  sin's  dark  blight. 

Though  steeped  so  deep  in  its  black  decay, 
Dear  Jesus,  forgive  such  souls — astray, 
While  at  the  Morgue  they  friendlessly  lay. 


THE  PICTURE. 

Come  Artist,  now  paint  me  a  picture 

Of  my  lady,  dainty  and  fair, 
Just  catch  me  her  loveliest  dimples, 

The  light  on  her  soft  golden  hair; 
The  rose  on  her  cheek  but  the  faintest, 

That  line  for  the  exquisite  nose, 
And  the  lips  delicious  twin  berries, 

As  they  meet  in  such  placid  repose. 


88  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Mark  that  throat  like  statue  of  marble, 

And  those  eyes  with  heaven's  own  tinge, 
See  those  lids,  the  whitest  of  snowflakes, 

With  lashes  of  long,  silken  fringe; 
And  those  hands,  ah!  can  you  e'er  paint  them? 

So  matchless  are  they  in  their  form; 
The  mould  of  the  beautiful  figure, 

Oh!  would  that  to  life  it  could  warm. 

Now  catch  you  the  gleam  of  the  sunset, 

That  lies  'cross  the  finely  turned  wrist, 
Then  brows  so  bewitchingly  arching, 

And  the  ears  like  shells,  do  you  list? 
Like  Nectar,  just  pour  o'er  the  canvas 

The  ring  of  her  magical  laugh! 
Now  Artist,  of  charms  so  enchanting, 

I  find  you  can  paint  me  but  half. 

But  her  song  like  lark  at  the  morning, 

In  quaver,  and  extatic  trill; 
Could  you  paint  me?  but  oh!  I  am  dreaming, 

My  fancy  her  beauties  so  fill. 
That  head's  symmetrical  posing; 

That  look  of  Madona,  or  saint. 
But  the  beautiful  soul  of  my  lady, 

Only  angels  in  heav'ii  can  paint, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  89 


NEVER  A  BRIDE. 

'Twasnot  one  hundred  year's  ago, 

There  came  at  twilight's  ruddy  glow, 

Pure  as  a  tiny  flake  of  snow, 
A  baby  fair, 
With  golden  hair, 

A  gift  from  heav'n  to  earth  below. 

Deep  in  cushions  of  snowy  white, 
Swath'd  as  in  robes  of  pearly  light, 
This  lovely,  fairy,  dimpled  sprite, 
Thus  lay  in  state, 
At  door  of  fate, 
As  evening  sank  in  arms  of  night. 

She,  the  mother,  a  very  child, 
Through  raining  tears  tenderly  smil'd 
O'er  type  of  him  who  so  beguiled 
And  led  astray 
From  virtue's  way 
Her  blameless  life  he'd  so  denied. 

Hers  the  bitter  lot  that  comes  to  some, 
With  promise  fair  that  he  would  come, 
When  foreign  lands  he'd  cease  to  roam, 
What  e'er  betide. 
She'd  be  his  bride; 
Very  queen  of  his  princely  home. 


90  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

But  alas  !  when  twilight's  deep'ning  gray 

Was  holding  sunset's  glare  at  bay, 

She  in  narcotic  stupor  lay, 

With  face  of  shame 
He  stealthy  came, 

And  stole  the  babe  from  her  arms  away. 

Yes,  came  with  tiger's  stealthy  tread, 
And  stole  his  child  from  its  snowy  bed, 
While  mother  lay  as  one  that's  dead. 
Out  in  the  night 
He  took  his  flight, 
As  pale  moon  ghostly  shadows  spread. 

Away  in  its  robes  of  splendid  state, 
There  in  basket  at  foundling's  gate 
He  left  it  there  to  an  unknown  fate, 
His  baby  fair 
With  golden  hair; 
So  his  soul  may  plead  at  heaven  too  late. 

Then  away  o'er  mighty  deep  he  sped, 
With  stony  heart  and  panther  tread, 
While  the  mother  lay  cold  and  dead. 
With  face  s©  white, 
That  awful  night, 
While  angels  were  watching  over  head. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  91 

She  who  nursed  her  so  sadly  sigh'd 
As  the  waxen  hands  together  she  tied, 
And  said,  "yes  'twere  better  she  died, 

Than  in  disgrace 

The  world  to  face; 
A  mother,  yet  never  a  bride. 

Women  with  tender  hands  outreach, 
With  woman's  tongue  in  tender  speech 
Tell  such,  God's  saving  love  can  reach 
The  saddest  heart 
That  bears  sin's  smart;. 
That  he  the  blackest  soul  can  bleach. 


TO   J.  J.  B.,  MY   BROTHER. 

Do  not  forget  me  if  grief's  storms  of  anguish 

Come  sweeping  o'er  my  path  like  wintry  blast, 
Ah!  no,  thy  true  affection  cannot  languish, 

But  like  the  sunlight,  let  it  ever  cast 
Its  glory  on  my  way — a  heav'nly  blessing 

To  gild  the  present — and  the  future  light 
Amid  life's  ills,  no  matter  how  distressing, 

Still  let  it  live,  like  one  lone  star  at  night. 
When  black'ned  clouds,  the  skies  in  gloom  are  veiling^ 

So,  so,  to  me  amid  the  pangs  of  woe, 


2  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Let  thy  love  beam,  oh!  never,  never  failing 

In  its  deep  tenderness-  shall  it  not  be  so 
May  I  not  from  the  past,  thy  future  kindness 

Still  fearless  trust— nor  ought  my  fond  faith  break, 
Not  with  that  wild  hope,  with  its  weird-like  blindness, 

That  trusting  the  untried,  at  last  will  wake 
To  falsehood — as  thou'st  proved,  so  be  forever, 

Nor  cast  my  love  away  as  worthless,  weak. 
'Mid  all  life's  ills,  let  nought  our  fondness  sever, 

But  heart  to  heart,  for  aye  in  kindness  speak. 


SUSPENSE. 

I  sit  at  my  wheel  and  try  to  spin, 

As  the  tides  go  out,  and  tides  come  in, 

Ah!  sorrow,  ah!  woe  is  me. 
I  list  in  vain  and  my  cheeks  grow  pale, 
While  watching  to  see  the  snow  white  sail, 

That  wafts  my  lover  from  sea. 

I  sigh  as  I  walk  on  pebbly  beach, 

Where  the  mighty  breakers  seem  to  reach, 

As  great  monsters  after  me, 
And  with  eager  haste,  and  trembling  hand, 
I  hurriedly  trace  on  shining  sand, 

The  name  that  was  mine  to  be. 


FANCY  S   ETCHINGS. 

And  I  sadly  shade  my  yearning  sight, 
From  dazzling  glare  of  the  sunny  light, 

As  I  look  far  out  to  sea. 
Each  rising  swell  of  the  bounding  wave, 
Seemeth  to  me  but  a  mounded  grave, 

Between  my  lover  and  me. 

There's  a  mast,  and  keel,  and  splintered  deck, 
And  broken  spars  of  a  shattered  wreck, 

Afar  up  the  pebbly  shore. 
And  giddily  whirls  my  crazy  brain, 
As  I  weep  for  fear  that  never  again, 

Will  he  come  as  once  of  yore, 

Yet  better — better  that  he  were  lost, 
And  his  bark  by  mighty  tempests  tost, 

And  sunk  in  a  stormy  sea. 
Than  ever  to  me  he  recreant  prove, 
And  break  his  vows  of  eternal  love, 

A  traitor  to  me — Ah!  me. 

He  said  e'er  the  pearl  white  moon  should   ride, 
Like  a  silver  boat  on  the  placid  tide, 

In  a  twelve  months  time  that  he, 
With  gifts  from  many  a  foreign  land, 
Would  come  and  claim  my  bonny  hand, 

As  his  wife  for  aye  to  be. 


FANCYS  ETCHINGS. 

But  he  hauntetli  me  in  dreams  at  night, 
With  a  ghastly  face,  in  ghostly  light, 

He  comes  and  looketh  at  me. 
And  his  white  lips  ever  seem  to  knell, 
A  sad,  oh!  a  solemn,  sad  farewell, 

Mid  roar  of  a  stormy  sea; 


THE  MAGIC    GLASS. 

'Mong  legends  old  and  weird  romances, 
That  so  the  dreary  mind  entrances, 

My  lay  hath  part; 

A  strange,  wild  tale  of  wizard  power, 
Of  Ghostly  Elves,  and  midnight  hour, 

And  'magic  art. 

Of  an  old  Castle  quaint  and  hoary, 
Of  Goblin  spell,  a  mystic  story, 

It  doth  betray. 

'Twas  Hallow-e'en  when  sprite,  and  fairy, 
And  haunting  ghouls  so  wierd,  and  airy, 

Come  forth  they  say, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  95 

A  bright-eyed  maid  had  vowed  to  clamber, 
Up  to  the  turrets  highest  chamber, 

Alone  perchance, 

And  there  her  own  sweet  face  but  viewing, 
In  an  old  glass— the  wizard  suing, 

For  one  quick  glance, 

Of  him  who  here  her  future  sharing, 
Would  win  her  heart — with  reckless  daring, 

The  glass  was  sought. 
The  battling  storm  with  fearful  shouting, 
Raged  wild  and  fierce,  and  seemed  as  scouting 

Her  frenzied  thought. 

The  grim  owl  through  the  woodland  skimming, 
Shrieked  in  the  midnight's  dusky  grimming, 

Like  Banshee's  cry. 
The  ship-like  moon,  tost  worriedly 
Through  seas  of  clouds,  that  hurriedly 

Dashed  through  the  sky. 

Like  twisting  tongues  in  fiery  gieamings, 
Forked  light/nings  shed  their  lurid  beamings. 

In  serpent  trails. 

In  gaudy  flame  of  brazen  sheeting, 
The  glowing  columns  fast  and  fleeting, 

Now  shines,  now  pales. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


By  cannon  thunders  earth  seem'd  riven, 
As  if  the  battlements  of  heaven, 

Stay  legion  storms, 

While  foaming  waves  were  swiftly  driven, 
The  groaning  trees  held  up  to  heaven 

Their  shattered  forms. 

And  there  within  that  chamber  lonely, 
Like  rigid  statue  seemed  she  only, 

So  moveless  stands. 
Her  bright  eyes  in  the  mirror  gazing, 
While  round  her  form  a  misty  hazing, 

Now  wreathes  and  bands, 

Her  slender  figure  quaint  entombing, 
While  a  faint  sense  of  ghostly  glooming, 

About  her  seems. 

One  look—  one  look  of  him  the  chosen, 
To  bless  her  lot  so  fixed,  and  frozen, 

Her  white  face  gleams; 

As  far  and  near  with  boistrous  swelling, 

The  shouting  winds  swept  round  that  dwelling, 

Like  wail  of  care, 

Like  stars,  and  sunshine  wove  together, 
Or  shining  web  of  netted  ether, 

Gleam  'd  all  the  air. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  97 

While  near  her  frantic  laughs  were  ringing. 
And  sounds  of  strange  sepulchral  singing, 

And  sigh  and  moan 
And  low  within  the  mirror  gleaming, 
A  ghastly  face  reflects  in  seeming, 

Besides  her  own, 

And  be  it  goblin',  sprite,  or  devil, 
Oh!  terror,  sure  some  deed  of  evil, 

The  place  has  curs't 

Some  demon  here,  or  ghostly  brightness 
Hath  power  a  mid  this  gloomy  nightness, 

The  tomb  to  burst. 

Such  fearful  sounds  like  human  wailing, 
Rang  through  those  halls,  Yet  still  unfailing, 

She  listless  clings, 
Intently  in  the  mirror  gazing, 
While  tones  sweep  by  her  sense  amazing, 

Of  countless  wings. 

Her  heart  its  wonted  throbbing  ceasing, 
Seemed  as  it  were  her  soul  releasing, 

In  terror's  might, 

While  aye  upon  her  anxious  hearing, 
Low  voices  whispered  ever  nearing, 

In  tones  so  light. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


98  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Lorene!  Lorene!  all  softly  naming. 
While  sneering  faces  mocking,  shaming, 

In  phantom  throngs, 
While  bursts  of  music  near  her  ringing, 
Seemed  fiends  in  bachanalian  singing, 

Of  demon  songs. 

Past  twelve  o'clock  the  church  chimes  tell, 
And  waking  as  from  some  mad  spell, 

She  lists  in  fear. 

Yet  naught  save  the  wild  owlets  notes, 
Upon  the  dim  night  ether  floats, 

To  greet  her  ear. 

The  spell  dissolved — the  frighted  maid, 
With  heaving  chest,  and  sore  dismayed, 

The  chamber  left. 
While  at  her  side  a  figure  tall, 
Goes  on  through  each  high  winding  hall, 
'Till  nigh  bereft, 

She  gains  the  throng,  each  gay  one  chiding 
Her  thoughtful  mood,  yet  she  still  hiding 

Her  secret's  might. 
No  word  of  what  she  saw  in  seeming, 
Escaped  those  lips  the  sounds,  the  gleaming, 

That  met  her  sight. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  99 

Her  sister's  prayer  she  listless  heedeth, 
Though  Bella  the  cause  of  mystery  pleadeth, 

Her  secret  slept. 

In  her  poor  heart  so  darkly  wrestling, 
Like  viper  near  a  linnet  nestling, 

The  knowledge  slept. 

Months  past,  yeb  a  strange  presence  bound  her, 
A  phantom  being  linger'd  round  her, 

From  hour,  to  hour. 
T'was  with  her  in  the  sunny  light, 
T'wa  3  with  her  in  her  dreams  at  night, 

The  blasting  power. 

One  day  into  the  village  came 

A  stranger,  none  might  tell  his  name, 

But  tales  there  were. 
Of  heaping  wealth,  of  countless  gold, 
Report  the  tale  hath  eager  told, 

From  ear  to  ear. 

There  came  a  night  when  earth  seem'd  laden 
With  the  transfigured  light  of  Aiden, 

Heav'ns  atmosphere, 

Earth  seemed  as  swooned  in  mystic  trancing 
As  on  the  green  for  country  dancing, 

The  throngs  draw  near, 


100  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  swirl  as  in  a  world  of  dreamin 


While  moonlight  so  delusive  seeming, 

Rained  hallowed  light. 
As  nectar  we  had  sipped  and  draining, 
And  drank  as  some  delicious  raining, 

Of  jewels  bright. 

And  there  the  maid  and  stranger  met, 
Her  gaze  scarce  on  his  features  set, 

Ere  that  wierd  sight, 
Cams  swiftly  on  her  startled  mind, 
And  seem'd  with  the  same  pow'r  to  bind, 

Of  that  wild  night. 

Strange  beauty  had  he,  and  a  pow'r 
Was  round  her  cast  from  hour  to  hour, 

Linking  her  soul. 

All,  all  would  shun  him  save  the  maid, 
On  her  some  fearful  spell  was  laid, 

Naught  could  control. 

Strange  meetings  had  they  too,  1  ween, 
Where  never  human  form  was  seen, 

In  times  gone  by. 
In  a  wild  dell  as  legends  say, 
The  haunt  of  goblin,  sprite  and  fay 

As  eve  drew  nigh. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  101 

Oh  !  were  lie  fiend,  or  were  he  mortal  ? 
Or  spirit,  that  had  burst  Death's  portal  ? 

To  wander  here, 

While  at  his  side  a  silent  rapture, 
Would  hold  her  ev'ry  sense  in  capture, 

A  speechless  fear. 

All  loves  were  lost  in  this  mad  one, 
Ah!  could  she  know  a  demon  spun 

This  Hade's  spell. 

This  mystic  charm  around  her  heart, 
How  she  would  snap  the  cords  apart, 

And  rend  the  spell, 

But  she  could  list  poor  Bella's  pleading, 
Arid  all  so  helpless  never  heeding 

Her  wailing  cry. 

Sickened  that  sister  from  the  woe, 
That  seem'd  o'er  her  this  spell  to  throw, 

Of  mystery. 

And  on  her  brow  the  damps  of  death, 
Lay  chill,  and  cold,  the  hurried  breath. 

Spoke  sudden  doom. 
Told  the  chill  presence  near  her  now, 
Yet  Lorene  kept  her  plighted  vow, 

At  midnight  gloom. 


102  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

For  she  had  promised,  ere  dawned  the  light, 
To  meet,  and  wed,  the  mystic  knight, 

In  that  wierd  tower. 
At  midnight  hour  what  e'er  betide, 
She'd  vowed,  she'd  sworn  to  be  his  bride, 

At  ghostly  hour. 

Yes,  she  must  fly,  some  numbing  trance, 
Lulls  every  sense — e'en  though  perchance, 

Ne'er  to  return. 

And  that  sister's  face  never  to  view, 
Yet  must  she  fly  for  true,  true,  true, 

Her  heart  throbs  yearn, 

To  him,  though  blindly  false  to  all, 
That  else  were  dear — All  ioves  must  fall, 

And  fade  away. 

Before  this  wild,  distracting  dream, 
This  will-o'  wisp's  delusive  gleam, 

That  o'er  her  lay. 

With  wild  enchantment  so  intense, 
A  charm  was  binding  every  sense, 

With  fetters  grim. 
And  she  has  sought  the  castle  tower, 
To  meet  her  love  at  midnight  hour, 

And  wed  with  him. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  103 

The  phantom  power  that  bound  her  life, 
To  conscience  dumb,  was  there  no  strife, 

No  pang  of  woe  ? 

With  duty,  and  with  passion's  test, 
Within  that  once  so  sinless  breast, 

Ah !  no,  Ah !  no . 


Lo!  to  the  mirror  her  glances  raising, 
The  same  dark  eyes  in  hers  are  gazing, 

In  soft  reply. 

'Mid  sounds  of  strife  and  cries  of  pain, 
The  same  wild  faces  gleam  again, 

As  eye,  met  eye. 

But  Bella's  soul  from  its  temple  leaping, 
Beside  her  form  is  lightly  sweeping; 

A  shadowy  mist. 

Like  filmy  clouds  of  gieamy  brightness, 
Or  seraph  robed  in  spotless  whiteness, 

Her  brow  it  kist. 

She  lists,  and  low  upon  her  calling, 
'Tis  he,  her  love,  her  soul  appalling, 

With  pallid  face. 

Again  she  lists  its  mystic  sounding, 
'Tis  he!  'tis  he!  and  wildly  bounding 

To  his  embrace. 


104  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

She  forward  springs — between  them  glooming, 
A  white  and  ghastly  form  is  looming, 

With  face  of  woe; 

The  pale  lips  speak,  "Oh!  sister  stay," 
And  the  phantom  fled  like  mist  away, 

Or  drift  of  snow. 

The  spell  was  broken,  that  angel  soul, 
Had  rent  the  demon  power's  control, 

For  aye  and  aye. 

With  throbbing  pulse  and  heaving  chest, 
And  heart  and  mind  so  sad  distressed, 

In  wild  dismay, 

She  sought  fond  Bella's  bower  now, 
Hapless  at  last  to  tell  her  woe, 

So  sore  amazed; 

But  cold  in  death  lay  that  gentle  form, 
Which  vainly  to  life  she  strove  to  warm, 

Till  almost  craz'd. 

That  soul  hath  passed  from  earth  forever, 
Ne'er  to  return,  Oh!  never,  never, 

To  all  its  pain. 

Could  they  e'er  meet,  would  she  e'er  win 
A  place  in  heaven?     For  this  foul  sin 

Plead  she  in  vain? 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  105 

To  be  forgiven— yes,  God  aye  hears 
The  sinner's  cry — repentant  tears 

Can  wash  out  sin  , 

Are  far  more  precious  than  the  gems 
That  deck  the  Seraph's  diadems, 

And  heaven  will  win. 


THE  AUTUMN  RAIN. 

In  glad  refrain, 
'Gainst  window  pane, 

Comes  tripping, 
The  dashing  rain, 
In  sparkles  bright, 
Of  chrystal  light. 

There  dripping, 
All  through  the  night. 

So  gailey  tost, 
Like  Fairy  host, 

There  rapping, 
In  darkness  lost. 
With  merry  din, 
For  entrance  in. 

Aye  tapping, 
They  whirl  and  spin. 


106  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Each  slides  and  slips, 
Like  finger  tips, 

There  drumming. 
Or  sparkling  drips, 
They  bound  and  leap, 
Or  glide  and  creep, 

Aye  humming. 
In  chorus  deep. 

Like  cheery  throng, 
The  whole  Eight  long, 

They  clatter, 
A  merry  song 
Like  ghostly  eyes, 
In  sad  surprise, 

They  spatter, 
Each  glistening  pane. 

Against  the  glass, 
A  glittering  mass, 

They  shimmer, 
Or  fade  and  pass, 
Or  shine  and  cling; 
As  living  thing. 

And  glimmer, 
Like  pearls  astring. 


10T 


All  through  the  night, 
In  starry  light, 

There  gleaming, 
As  diamonds  bright, 
Oh  !  welcome  rain, 
Against  the  pane, 

Come  streaming, 
With  glad  refrain. 


A  PHILANTHROPIST'S  DKEAM, 

But  yester  e'en  I  dreamt  a  vision  quaintly  strange, 

Beside  a  water's  edge  there  stood  a  woman  fair, 
In  pearl  white  robes — so  chastely  beautiful  was  she, 

As  round  her  like  a  mantle,  coiled  her  lovely  hair, 
Like  web  of  SUL shine;  while  noiseless  upon  the  tide 

A  brazen  trumpet  fell  and  floated  to  her  feet, 
Which,  stooping,  she  grasped  up,  and  pressing  to  her  lips, 

Sent  forth  a  blast  that  rang  in  cadence  sweet; 
When  on  the  shining  flood  there  suddenly  appeared 

Innumerable  tiny  fish,  like  flakes  of  snow, 
And  each  was  spouting  forth  myriads  of  precious  gems> 

That  in  translucent  gleams  of  splendor  glow, 
And  in  their  midst  fair  flowery  wreaths  dropt  down, 

And  shining  golden  crowns  came  floating  on  the  wave, 


108  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

While  I,  amazed,  did  anxious  ask  this  being  fair, 

What  meaneth  this?  and  she  in  accents  soft  and  grave, 
Heplied,  the  snow  white  fish  bespeak  the  conscience  clear; 

The  gems,  they  shimmer  forthwith  deeds  of  kindness  rife, 
Are  typical;  the  crowns  and  wreaths  image  to  thee, 

The  just  rewards  that  wait  thee  in  the  spirit  life; 
Then  falteringly  I  said,  what  emblemist  thou 

So  beautiful  of  mien,  so  holy  and  so  pure  ? 
In  soft  response  she  spake,  I  symbol  heavenly  love 

To  all  the  just  of  heart,  who  patiently  endure. 
Then  rouse  bowed  hearts  for  glory  crowns  are  waiting  ye. 

Work  on,  work  on,  and  bear  in  sorrow  and  in  pain; 
I"or  the  bright  heaven  that  surely  beckoneth  thee, 

Where  misery  and  wrong  can  blight  no  lives  again. 


VARIED  FATES. 

How  long,  oh  Lord,  must  I  a  pilgrim  go? 

O'er  mountain  crags  that  pierce  my  bleeding  feet 
O'er  cliffs  that  bend,  O'er  fearful  chasms  below, 

Through  fetid  marsh,  and  city's  busy  street; 
Wearied  arid  tired,  in  sorrow  and  in  pain, 

Like  Israel's  Pilot,  rest  not  night  or  day, 
fleeing  from  justice,  while  lifes  an  endless  lane, 

Of  haunting  ghosts,  a  cheerless  sunless  way, 
33ut  looking  up,  I  hear  thee,  murmur  go! 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  .     109 

'Till  faith  lights  up  for  thee  Earth's  wilderness 
With  my  forgiveness  sweet  amid  thy  woe, 
Best  is  with  me,  and  I  can  heal  and  bless. 

How  long,  Oh  Lord,  must  I  with  tired  hands 

Plow  endless  fields  that  others  harvest  reap  ? 
While  I  on  chaff  can  feed,  view  endless  bands 

Heaping  with  food  for  others,  while  I  weep 
For  hunger  — see  fruitage  of  my  toil 

That  but  enriches  those  that  sit  at  ease. 
While  I  must  plow  and  plant  for  them  the  soil, 

Nor  ever  rest  me,  fanned  by  cooling  breeze; 
'Neath  arid  suns,  but  heated  waters  drink, 

For  taste  of  icy  founts  my  master  sips, 
Nor  dare  to  loiter  round  its  cooling  brink 

To  press  one  shining  drop  to  parching  lips. 

How  long,  Oh!  Lord,  shall  I  with  aching  sight, 

Guide  the  swift  needle,  that  my  babes  may  live  ? 
Is  life  for  me  a  task,  a  scene  of  blight  ? 

Hast  thou  no  better  fate  dear  Lord  to  give, 
Or  have  I  sinned?     What  is  this,  my  sin  ? 

A  drunkard's  wife — and  these  his  babes  uncared; 
Is  his  sin  mine  ?     Can  not  my  prayers  yet  win 

Forgiveness  e'en  for  him,  that  he  be  spared 
From  wrath  to  come  ?     If  in  true  penitence  that  he 

Kneel,  as  I  kneel,  thou  canst  his  soul  make  white; 
With  thy  dear  love,  Oh!  Christ,  ail  power  is  given  thee 

The  blind  in  sin  to  give  redeeming  sight. 


110  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

How  long,  Oh!  Lord,  shall  I  that  her  so  wronged, 

Be  haunted,  reproachful,  by  her  dying  face, 
My  nightly  dreams  by  vengeful  demons  thronged, 

Is  there  for  me  uo  secret  hiding  place? 
To  flee  from  conscience  scorpions— and  from  thee — 

To  put  myself  away — Oh!  let  the  rocks  but  fall 
And  crush  me — let  my  soul  die  out  and  be 

As  it  had  never  been.    Thou  who  reignest  o'er  all 
Po  wer'd  to  give,  and  take  of  life,  blot  out  this  soul  of  mine. 

And  yet  methinks  I  see  her  bow  at  mercy's  seat, 
And  plead  for  me.    Vengeance,  my  God,  is  thine; 

Thou  to  repent  nice  givest  forgiveness  sweet. 

How  long,  Oh!  Lord,  must  I  bear  stripes  and  blows, 

And  be  the  gibe  and  jeer  of  men  of  high  estate  ? 
For  when  their  waste  I  beg,  they  bid  me  go 

Nor  dare  to  rest  me  at  their  palace  gate; 
Hear  me,  Oh!  Lord,  and  give  me  unbegged  bread, 

Nor  let  my  children  cry  with  hungry  need, 
I  hear  thee  say,  "  They  who  the  wine  press  tread, 

Shall  be  partakers  of  the  wine,"  that  ox  be  freed 
From  muzzle  when  he  treads  the  corn,  yet  as  of  old 

Man's  barns  are  full,  his  grains  like  billows  roll 
Teach  him  dear  Lord,  the  poor  are  of  thy  fold, 

That  thou  this  night  could'st  ask  of  him  his  soul. 

How  long,  Oh!  Lord,  within  a  den  of  crime, 
Shall  I  dras-  out  a  life  of  sin  and  shame? 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  Ill 


Is  there  for  me  my  God!  no  end  of  time, 

No  end  of  Earth,  and  sneering  human  blame? 
Is  there  no  voice  to  speak,  and  bid  me  rise, 

No  one  to  point  for  me  the  better  ways? 
Must  I  in  shame,  aye,  hide  from  wonians'  eyes 

And  still  be  woman  —  should  she  not  strive  to  raise 
Her  kind,  though  they  be  fallen  —  my  God! 

Is  it  not  best  o'er  social  gulf  she  reaeh  her  hand, 
To  raise  and  save,  nor  strike  with  smiting  rod? 

But  teach  the  pathway  to  the  better  land. 

How  long,  Oh!  Lord,  shall  they,  who  thy  poor  feed, 

Visit  thy  prisoned  sick  —  afflicted  ones? 
Scatter  abroad  thy  holy  gospel  seed; 

Live  lives  as  blameless  as  the  noonday  sun, 
Yet  bear  reproach  —  from  scandal's  fetid  breath 

That  like  some  festering  pool  pours  forth  its  stench, 
Breeding  diseases  foul  and  horrid  death. 

From  trials  such  as  these  patient  spirits  wrench 
And  show  the  world  that  they're  by  liars  scourged, 

Nor  let  the  blackening  tongue  thy  chosen  shame, 
E're  the  pointing  floods  above  them  surge, 

Reach  forth  dear  Christ,  and  save  a  guiltless  name. 

How  long,  Oh!  Lord,  from  'neath  thy  throne  in  heaven, 

Shall  we  cry  out  the  unavenged  souls? 
Thy  Prophets,  saints,  who  forth  from  Earth  were  driven 

In  martyrs  deaths—  Thou  whose  power  controls, 


112  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Who  worlds  from  nothing  built,  climes,  lands  and  seas 

And  fruitage  fair,  and  herb  and  blossom  sweet; 
And  gavest  to  man,  the  ingrate,  blest  with  these; 

Yet  ne'er  gave  place  of  rest  to  Jesus  feet, 
But  him  destro3^ed  with  cruel,  cruel  death, 

Who  unoffending  died  on  Calvary, 
And  led  the  way  to  heaven,  the  gospel  saith, 

Vengeance  is  thine,  Oh!  Lord,  so  let  it  be. 


TIME  AND  THE  SEASONS. 

I. 

Like  Peris  fair,  with  foreheads  serene, 

Came  skipping  along  with  garlands  green, 

Two  glowing  nymphs,  in  aerial  dance. 

With  laugh  and  song,  at  their  witching  glance, 

All  earth  revives  as  each  gaily  show'rs 

Around  her  a  fairy  gift  of  flowers 

While  Flora  is  scat'ring  o'er  hill  and  dell, 

On  the  streamlet's  banks,  by  wood  and  fell. 

The  lovely  sprites,  with  wooing  smile, 

Young  Spring  doth  the  rosy  gems  beguile, 

As  she  warbles  to  each  a  song  of  bliss 

Of  the  balmy  dews  and  zephyr's  kiss; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  113 

Mailed  in  his  armor  of  shining  gold, 

How  the  lover  sun  shall  their  charms  enfold, 

How  he'd  paint  their  breast's  with  the  glowing  dyes, 

The  rainbow  banners  across  the  skies; 

But  the  lowly  violet  should  wear  the  hue, 

Pilfered  from  heaven's  resplendent  blue. 

The  ripples  chirp  forth  in  cheerful  mood, 

The  rills  sing  out  from  the  forest  wood. 

All  nature  the  cup  of  joy  may  quaff, 

And  the  earth  resounds  like  a  merry  laugh; 

And  'mid  the  boughs  and  leaflets  green, 

Time's  spectral  figure  was  ever  seen. 


II. 

Till  with  rounded  form  and  rosy  lip, 
Where  god's  might  ambrosial  nectar  sip, 
Came  the  Season's  Queen  and  nature  smiled 
On  precious  gifts  of  her  favorite  child, 
As  she  jewel'd  earth  with  flow'r  and  leaf, 
And  the  furrowed  hills — like  brow  where  grief 
Hath  left  her  trace — looked  gladly  forth, 
'Neath  emerald  crests,  from  south  to  north 
Her  praises  rung,  their  anthems  trilling, 
The  birds  the  air  with  joy  were  filling; 
Beauty  awakens  at  her  very  breathing, 
Forest  and  bower  in  splendor  wreathing; 
And,  Lo!  wherever  her  footsteps  tread, 


114  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

A  spell  of  glory  is  sweetly  shed; 
Insects  pipe  from  their  covert  of  leaves, 
The  crickets  sing  from  the  cottage  eaves; 
The  spiders  their  lace-like  webbings  launch. 
Netting  its  maze  from  branch  to  branch. 
All  that  is  lovely  awakes  to  life, 
The  earth  and  air  with  her  gifts  are  rife. 
Gaily  she  hies  o'er  the  blooming  land, 
While  ever  the  spectral  warning  hand 
Still  pointeth  to  where  the  zephyr's  sing 
The  Availing  dirge  of  departed  Spring. 


III. 

But  stately  Autumn  comes  marching  by, 

There's  blight  in  the  breath  of  his  chilly  sigh, 

In  his  hand  a  ripened  sheaf  he  bears, 

Wreathed  on  his  wither'd  brow  he  wears 

A  shriveled  branch — no  flow'rs  are  springing — 

A  cluster  of  luscious  fruit  is  clinging 

Round  his  sturdy  form,  as  merrily 

He  tears  the  leaves  from  the  blighted  tree. 

Vertumnus*  is  bearing  a  gleaming  store 

Of  purple  grapes,  their  juices  pour 

Out  on  the  sombre  earth ;  but  no  smile  ye  trace, 

No  token  of  joy  on  her  wrinkled  face, 

"Etruscan  God— wine  and  fruits  were  his  peculiar  gifts. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  115 

No  thankful  voice  from  her  heart  is  won 

For  the  precious  gifts  of  her  wanton  son, 

But  demons  of  tempest  spring  to  birth, 

The  wild  winds  laugh  in  bacchanal  mirth 

Till  she  quakes  in  dread.  But,  like  kindly  eyes 

In  seeming  pity,  the  cloudy  skies 

Weep  o'er  all  nature  thus  bereft 

Of  the  gems  sweet  Spring  and  Summer  left; 

While  marches  Autumn  with  kingly  stride, 

O'er  hill  and  vale,  o'er  land  and  tide; 

Yet  still,  'mid  the  haughty  monarch's  train, 

Time's  spectral  figure  was  seen  again. 


IV. 

But  like  warrior  vet'ran,  Winter  appears — 
On  his  ghastly  face  the  frozen  tears 
Gleam  in  the  light  of  the  noonday  beams, 
While  with  icy  fetters  he  chains  the  streams: 
On,  onward,  tramping  o'er  land  and  sea, 
While  the  billows  shout  in  boisterous  glee, 
Slow  moves  his  blasted  figure  along 
With  snowy  locks — though  firm  and  strong 
AVas  his  giant  stride — his  glazing  breath 
Shackled  the  rills,  while  blight  and  death 
Were  seen  wherever  his  footsteps  trod, 
From  forest  oak  to  the  daisied  sod. 
With  frosty  fingers  he  burnish'd  the  stars 


116 


Till  they  shim'ring  quaked  on  their  flaming  cars; 

And  lo !  on  the  bough  where  the  green  leaves  hung 

His  jewels  the  icy  chief  lain  strung; 

While  Apollo  rained  in  fiery  gleams 

His  burning  glances,  yet  chilPd  the  beams 

Ere  to  the  earth  they  had  won  their  flight; 

And  brightly  glowing,  the  orb  of  night 

Gazed  sadly  down; — as  on  went  the  train 

The  breeze  seemed  chanting  a  funeral  strain, 

And  still  Time's  spectral  figure  wends 

Yet  pointing  where  earth  and  season  ends. 


THE  CONVENT. 

Vulcan  at  dawn,  from  his  red  furnace  in  the  East, 

Rolls  out  great  hoops  of  light  to  girdle  land  and  sea, 

Still  higher  and  higher  rush  the  glowing  flames, 

Till,  from  his  blazing  forgo,  he  wheels  the  red  hot  sun, 

Like  a  live  coal  seething  upon  the  breast  of  heaven, 

Fanned  by  the  cooling  zephyrs  of  the  morn. 

Dismal  and  solemn,  in  the  rich  sunlight, 

Loom  the  convent  walls — like  a  dull  casket— 

As  seeming  to  defy  the  outward  world 

With  the  too  precious  treasury  within. 

Couldst  look  within  and  mark  that  queenly  form, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  117 

Moving  in  stately  majesty  'mid  the  throng 
Of  melancholy  nuns.     "Tis  she,  the  Abbess 
Of  that  holy  sisterhood. 

There  are  still 

Traces  of  beauty  on  that  time  worn  face; 
But  years  have  passed  since  first  she  sought  those  walls, 
And  she  hath  no  fellowship  with  the  world. 
A  being  of  whom  we  feel  a  sacred  awe, 
Seeming  to  hold  no  kindred  with  the  earth, 
But,  Oh!  what  various  emotions  stir 
In  every  bosom  there.      While  some  in  quiet, 
In  holy  peace  throb  but  with  thoughts  of  heav'n, 
Others  there  were  whose  every  heart-pulse 
Seemed  as  the  dirge-like,  funeral  knell 
Of  crushed  affections,  and  of  blighted  youth. 
For  there  were  broken  hearts 'shrouded  therein, 
Many  a  prayer  breathed  before  that  sacred  shrine, 
Laden  with  sighs  for  peace  and  hope  departed. 
Oft  bearing  a  Name  that  had  been  prized  for  years, 
Up  to  the  mighty  throne  of  God, 

One  came  there 

Beautiful  as  Hebe,  with  cheeks  of  rose, 
With  matchless  form  and  brow  of  lily  whiteness, 
But  sorrow  soon  stole  the  rose-hue  from  her  cheek, 
And  dimmed  the  brightness  of  those  starry  eyes. 
Doomed  by  her  sire  to  Convent's  lifeless  gloom, 
For  loving,    'gainst  his  will,  one  by  him  abhor'd. 
8 


118  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

As  lightning  fells  the  tree,  so  swept  his  rage, 
Severing  those  hearts  forever. 

Lorenzo 

The  loved,  and  lost,  a  maniac  became, 
While  she.  in  orisons,  poured  forth  her  woe, 
But  one  day  summoned  to  that  sire's  view, 
Nor  dreaming  why — with  throbbing  heart  she  gained 
The  grate  that  buried  her  from  the  outward  world, 
Smiling  with  demon  joy  in  her  wan  face, 
He  announced  the  tidings  of  Lorenzo's  death, 
An  instant  she  stood  with  agony  transfixed, 
Then  from  the  foldings  of  her  sable  habit 
A  poignard  drew  and  plunged  it  in  her  heart. 
With  eager  haste  he  strove  to  stay  the  deed, 
But  vain,  the  high  grating  rose  between, 
Defying  effort. 

And  senseless  she  fell, 

While  from  her  wounded  side  the  life  blood-flow'd 
A  crimson  stream  upon  the  snowy  pave. 
Hapless  he  gazed  and  lists  return  of  life, 
But  soon  they  came  and  bore  her  from  his  sight. 
Never  again  might  he  look  on  that  face, 
Or  clasp  unto  his  heart  his  murdur'd  child; 
No,  not  even  in  death. 

Lo !  like  prison'd  dove, 
Sighed  there  still  one  Nora,  also  Novice, 
Yet  in  the  flush  of  youth,  ere  the  soul  hath  felt 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  119 

The  sorrowing  the  bitterness  of  earth, 

Striving  to  check  the  joyous  throbbing  of  her  heart. 

And  bow  in  penitence  before  her  God, 

But  seeming  'micl  that  throng  of  gloomy  nuns 

Like  to  a  fleecy  cloud  'mid  a  blacken'd  host, 

So  unfit  the  glowing  beauty  of  that  face, 

Not  meek  with  piety,  but  ever  beaming 

In  artless,  childlike  innocence  and  truth. 

She  was  an  orphan;  had  been  prisoned  there 

By  a  base  guardian,  who,  subtle,  scheming, 

Grasp'd  her  inheritance.     Before  the  world 

Mourning  her  dead,  and  laid  at  rest. 

And  soon  she  sought  companionship  with  one, 

A  firm  devotee  of  that  holy  sisterhood, 

One  who'd  dwelt  there  from  girlhood's  early  years. 

This  sister  kind  held  pious  converse  oft 

With  a  young  friar.     He  her  brother  was, 

And  came  to  her  to  hold  communion  blest, 

That  he  might  win  his  tempted  soul  from  sin . 

For  he  was  young,  and  pleasure  ever  seem'd 

To  lure  him  in  her  train — his  priesthood  mock. 

And  Nora,  day  by  day,  look'd  on  that  forehead  high, 

And  listened  the  music  of  that  tender  voice, 

Oft  meeting  his  rapid  glance.     Till  at  last 

A  kindred  feeling  rose  in  their  young  hearts, 

And  those  convent  walls  became  to  her 

A  hated  dungeon. 


120  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

For  he  liad  cast  off 

All  his  priestly  bonds,  nor  there  might  entrance  find. 
And  she  had  promised  she  would  be  his  bride 
At  the  appointed  time. 

And  Nora 

Waited  at  the  midnight  hour, 
Fearful  and  patient,  there  upon  her  knees 
In  prayer  and  tears,  beseeching  heaven's  aid, 
With  flushing  cheeks  and  heart  of  truest  love. 

Rising  in  sudden  haste, 

She  gained  the  outer  door,  drew  back  the  bolts, 
And  noiseless  gliding  through  the  dim,  dark  path, 
The  garden  wall  soon  reached,  where  Juan  waited, 
An  instant  paused  as  if  in  penitence, 
Then  grasps  the  cord  he  flings  and  slow  ascends, 
And  sobbing,  springs  into  her  lover's  arms. 
Within  a  sombre  garb  he  wraps  her  form, 
Hiding  in  its  deep  folds  her  snowy  robes; 
And  soon  before  the  good  priest  of  the  town. 
They  breathed  the  vows  that  bound  two  hearts  in  one. 
Ere  yet  the  moon  had  sank,  morn's  sun  arose, 
Clothed  in  his  golden  robes,  flinging  athwart 
The  toiling  waters  a  beamy  network, 
While  from  the  bay  sailed  out  the  speeding  ship 
Which  bore  away  those  unit  hearts  forever. 
Within  that  cloister  home  at  early  dawn, 
The  sacred  throng  for  holy  mass  assembled; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS,  121 

But  the  young  devotee  came  not.     In  vain 
They  searched.     Her  gloomy  cell  was  tenantless, 
And  she,  the  novice  fair,  was  now  a  bride. 
But  those  high  walls  still  hid  a  broken  heart; 
A  girl  with  large  dark  eyes  and  pallid  brow, 
Whose  mournful  glances  ever  seemed  to  beam 

Some  speechless  agony. 

Often  at  times, 

Her  cheek  would  dye  as  the  quick  blush  of  morn, 
And  then  'twould  fade,  as  faints  the  Northern  lights, 
And  her  wan  features  would  again  assume 
The  same  fixed  and  marble-like  expression. 
But  the  caged  bird  will  droop  if  nourished  long, 
Beneath  the  covering  of  eternal  night; 
And  so  she  died,  and  there  were  none  to  mourn; 
The  past  soon  shall  be  forgotten.     None  knew 
Her  tale — for  seldom  the  pale  lips  parted, 
Except  in  prayer. 

Now  before  the  altar  lies 
The  frozen  wreck  of  that  once  lovely  being, 
Through  the  dim  aisles,  dirge-like  tones  are  stealing, 
'Tis  mass  for  the  departed  earth-sick  soul. 
Peace,  let  her  rest,  disturb  not  by  a  sound 
That  calm  repose — let  not  a  zephyr's  breath 
Sweep  o'er  that  quiet  face  where  silence  reigns. 
Sorrow  hath  sadden'd  that  now  pulseless  heart, 
Tears  dimmed  those  eyes — such  tears  as  Angels  weep. 
Let  music's  plaint  be  still — let  not  a  voice 
Give  forth  one  thrilling  tone. 


122  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Behold!  sbe  sleeps. 
And  lo!  the  sleep  of  death. 

Peace !  let  her  rest; 

Ye  may  not  bid  the  wither'd  flow'r  to  bloom, 
Ye  may  not  bid  the  tuneless  bird  to  sing; 
Ye  may  not  wake  the  dead.     No  voice  hath  pow'r, 
The  loved  of  Heaven,  the  blessed,  back  to  win. 
Ye  may  not  call  the  immortal  here  to  dwell, 
Let  not  a  sound  awake  to  mar  this  quiet, 
For  lo!  the  dead,  the  pulseless  dead,  are  here. 


A  LAY  FOR  THE  SEASON. 

Hushed  is  the  rivulet's  gieesome  song 
No  longer  the  streamlet  sweeps  along 

In  summer's  golden  light ; 
The  frozen  waters  lie  fixed  and  deep,* 
While  Heaven's  tireless  sentinels  keep 

Their  watches  through  the  night. 

List  the  voice  of  Boreas  grieving  ! 
And  see,  the  frosty  elves  are  weaving 
Their  fret-work  for  the  trees! 


*•  I  refer  to  the  climate  of  my  late  home,  New  York,  where  the  poor 
suffer  fearfully  in  winter. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  123 

Earth's  gorgeous  bloom  hath  faded  now, 
The  leaflet's  withered  on  the  bough, 
Kissed  by  the  chilly  breeze. 

But  lo!  the  storm-winged,  ponderous  cloud 
Enwraps  the  sky  in  an  ebon  shroud, 

Hiding  each  starry  ray; 
While  tempests  howl  in  maniac  glee, 
And  leaping  in  air,  the  foaming  sea 

Scatters  the  glistening  spray. 

Pity  the  thin  clad,  shivering  form, 
That  homeless  wanders  amid  the  storm, 

While  ye  in  peace  are  blest; 
All  for  want  of  a  morsel  of  bread, 
For  lack  of  a  place  to  rest  the  head, 

The  weary  limbs  to  rest. 

Think  of  the  features  so  thin  and  cramped, 
By  the  demon  of  Penury  stamped, 

The  hollow  cheek  and  eye; 
Think  of  the  children  so  wildly  pleading, 
Think  of  the  parent  that  strives,  unheeding, 

To  list  starvation's  cry. 

Pity  the  wife  that  dreary  must  watch, 
A  husband's  dying  accents  to  catch, 
Lone  and  sad  must  listen; 


124  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

While  the  chattering  sleet  and  rain 
Comes  dancing  in  through  the  shattered  pane, 
And  not  one  star  doth  glisten. 

Oh,  pity  the  eyes  that  seldom  sleep, 
That  nightly  a  hopeless  vigil  keep, 

Where  a,  mother's  form  doth  lie; 
O,  weep  for  her  that  lone  must  yearn, 
But  to  see  the  morning  tapers  burn, 

Within  the  dismal  sky. 

Wo!  to  the  revelers  that  still  rejoice, 
That  give  no  heed  to  Charity  Vvoice^ 

No  aid  of  fellowship  lencFj 
Think  of  the  desolate,  fireless  hearth, 
Where  never  is  heard  the  voice  of  mirth, 

But  sorrow  doth  ever  bend. 

And  image  the  deathlike,  dismal  gloom 
That  hovers  within  a  cheerless  room, 

Where  tiny  form  is  lying; 
Pity  the  heart  in  sorrow  deep, 
Mourn  for  the  mother  that  sad  must  weep 

O'er  famished  infant  dying. 

Thrice  blest  be  the  poet's  chainless  mind, 
That  not  even  links  of  poverty  bind — 
Penury  hath  not  bowed; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  125 

Fame  to  the  fetterless  fancy's  dreams  — 
That  yet  may  fall  like  the  sunny  gleams 
Upon  the  worldly  crowd. 

Though  a  comfortless  garret  shelters  him, 
Though  but  by  the  rushlight  burning  dim, 

The  golden  webs  are  wrought; 
Though  passing  uncheered  to  a  pauper's  grave, 
O,  Fame!  may  her  gorgeous  banners  wave, 

Glowing  with  every  thought! 

While  the  ruby  wine  the  rich  man  sips, 
When  the  sparkling  goblet  meets  his  lips, 

He  dreams  not  of  sadness; 
He  gives  no  thought  to  the  hapless  poor, 
While  the  beggar  starves  at  his  very  door, 

His  soul  is  filled  with  gladness. 

Do  we  dream,  'mid  the  happy  joys  of  home, 
Of  our  soldiers  brave,  who  daring  roam 

'Mid  night  or  stormy  flood  ? 
Who  battled  the  traitors  hand  to  hand; 
Those  who  have  given  to  save  our  land 

Their  heart's  last  precious  blood  ? 

Do  we  sigh  o'er  desolate  homes  they  left  ? 

O'er  the  mother's  grief  of  her  boy  bereft  ? 

Or  the  broken-hearted  wife  ? 


126  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

I  fear  as  we  crowd  round  the  festive  board, 
Our  thoughts  too  seldom  wander  abroad, 
To  the  field  of  death  and  strife. 

Still,  the  tempest  shouts  in  boisterous  mirth. 
The  vexed  winds  scream  o'er  the  blighted  earth, 

Like  merry  fiends  at  strife; 
Ye  list  with  fear  to  their  dismal  groanings, 
Yet  deafly  turn  from  sorrow's  meanings, 

Amid  our  daily  life. 

Ye  hark,  starvation's  prayer  unheeding; 
Yet  Heaven  will  list  affliction's  pleading, 

Nor  basely  turn  away; 

And  'tis  there  our  deeds  are  written  down, 
'Fore  God's  approving  smile  or  frown, 

Till  comes  the  reckoning  day. 


THE  EIVAL  DANCERS. 

Lo!  a  bright  scene,  and  'mid  the  dazzling  glare 
Of  streaming  lights,  glides  on  two  beings  fair, 
In  graceful  dance,  like  to  fabled  fairy 
Or  charmed  nymph,  each  moves  with  motion  airy 
In  antic  feats,  winning  the  heart  and  eye — 
With  quaint  agility  striving  still  to  vie 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  127 

Each  with  the  other;  now  they  smiling  meet, 

With  peerless  gestures — while  their  noiseless  feet 

Scarce  touch  to  earth,  but  ply  the  yielding  air, 

While  they  like  winged  Ideals  seem  floating  there, 

In  strange  unearthliuess;  yet  what  visions  roll 

In  lava  currents  thro'  each  rival  soul, 

As  round  they  whirl  in  sparkling,  giddy  maze, 

Both  wooing  fame,  both  court  the  voice  of  praise. 

Till  the  admiring  throngs,  in  rainbow  showers, 

Fling  at  their  shrine  a  rosy  gift  of  flowers; 

But  lo !  a  wreath — their  brows  are  flushed  with  shame, 

For  both  have  clasp'd,  yet  neither  dare  to  claim; 

But  now  their  tiny  feet  the  off 'ring  spurn, 

And  round  they  whirl  in  mazy,  graceful  turn; 

Fair  is  the  scene,  and  seeming  fair  each  brow, 

Both  courting  fame,  and  quick  their  life  streams  flow, 

As  now  contending  in  mad  rivalry, 

They  both  move  on  'twixt  hate  and  jealousy. 

Ah  !  thoughtless  butterflies,  an  instant  pause, 

Nor  vainly  seek  humanity's  applause. 


A  SONG. 

.Remember  me,  dearest,  'mid  the  glory  of  Summer, 
When  flowers  are  flinging1  their  sweets  on  the  gale; 

When  the  lark  soareth  high,  and  the  busy  bee  hummeth, 
And  wild  birds  are  trilling  their  notes  in  the  vale. 


128  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Remember  me,  dearest,  when  the   autumn  wind   moaneth, 
And  leafless  and  bare,  stands  the  old  forest  tree; 

When  the  glittering  sunbeams  like  jewels  are  flashing, 
And  spangling  the  breast  of  the  murmuring  sea. 

Remember  me,  dearest,  when  the  winter  frost  Cometh, 
When  fairy  like  snowflakes  are  falling  to  earth; 

When  thy  voice  and  thy  heart  are  triumphant  in  gladness, 
Oh!  give  me  a  thought  'mid  thy  joy  and  thy  mirth. 


TO  MY  SISTER. 

"I  saw  thee  standing  by  his  side, 
A  fair,  a  bright,  a  joyous  bride." 

When  thou  did'st  breathe  thy  bridal  vow, 
Thine  eye  shone  with  a  lustre  bright — 

Surpassing  far  the  lovely  orbs, 

That  deck  the  ebon  brow  of  night. 

Thou'st  left  the  home  of  early  days, 
Thou  hast  left  each  fond  one's  side — 

With  heart  of  purest  innocence — 
A  young  and  beauteous  bride. 

Thou'rt  gone — thou'rt  gone!  my  sister  dear, 
With  thy  heart  so  free  from  guile; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  129 

Affection  dwelt  within  thy  breast, 
And  beam'd  in  thy  sunny  smile. 

A  charm  breathes  in  thy  soft,  sweet  voice — 

Thou'rt  fair  as  the  rosy  morn; 
Oh !  may  thy  path  be  strewn  with  flow'rs, 

And  free  from  every  thorn. 


RAIN,  DREARISOME  RAIN. 

I. 

Rain,  drearisome  rain! 
With  sobbing,  doleful  strain, 
Pour  the  shivering  drops 
On  the  bare  tree-tops; 
Like  a  living  thing, 
Each  bubble  doth  spring, 

Dripping  from  stem  to  stem. 

Over  mount  and  woods 
Rain  the  crystal  floods, 
Like  meteor  stars 
On  their  airy  cars; 
Each  a  fay  bright  world 
From  its  orbit  hurled, 

To  fell  destruction  doomed. 


130  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

With  diamond  glow, 

On  the  leafless  bough 

Hangs  the  glistening  sprite, 

In  quivering  light. 

Till  its  tiny  ball 

Doth  shimmer  and  fall, 

Shattered  in  sparkles  bright 

It  should  teach  the  heart. 
To  avoid  a-  part 
In  the  worldly  glare; 
For  Death's  sad  despair 
May  hurry  thy  doom, 
For  amid  youth's  bloom — 

He  slays  'mid  joys  of  life. 

II. 

Bain,  drearisome  rain! 
With  sobbing,  doleful  strain, 
Through  the  solemn  night 
Fall  the  drippings  light, 
Like  sounding  of  feet 
All  my  senses  cheat, 

Housing  wierd  fantasies. 

With  hurried  stamp, 
Like  the  measured  tramp 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  131 

Of  martial  hosts 
Of  wandering  ghosts, 
Pours  the  dismal  rain 
In  dolorous  strain, 

Seeming  to  patter  upon  my  brain. 

III. 

Oh!  the  sun,  the  sun,  the  weaver  sun, 

A  golden  web  for  the  day  hath  spun! 

No  longer  the  black  clouds  sends  their  springs 

To  deluge  earth  from  their  dripping  wings; 

The  morn,  like  a  jewreled  queen,  appears 

Where  the  sod  is  gemmed  with  the  night-rains  tears; 

The  bladed  grass  through  the  dark  ground  peeps 

From  the  secret  cave  where  the  seedling  sleeps; 

And  soon,  soon,  the  bride-like  Spring  shall  come, 

With  her  singing  birds  and  insects'  hum, 

And  the  heart  shall  forget  the  dismal  strain 

That  Winter  sang  in  the  dolorous  rain. 


CHEER  EARTH'S  SAD  HEARTS. 

Cheer  Earth's  sad  hearts,  nor  hopelessly  despond, 

Though  Sorrow's  cup  your  quivering  lips  have  drain'd 

Faith's  balm  can  heal  the  saddest,  torturing  wound, 
That  e'er  a  fainting  mortal's  soul  hath  pained; 

Though  false  the  look  that  once  could  so  entrance, 


132  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Though  false  the  words  that  once  could  so  beguile, 
The  light  of  truth  beams  from  our  Saviour's  glance, 
And  pure  affection  crowns  His  tender  smile. 

Though  Envy's  serpent  tongue  would  blast  thy  fame, 

Though  whispering  malice  would  fond  hearts  divide, 
At  last  defamers  shall  bow  low  in  shame, 

And  plead  the  rocks  their  guilty  souls  to  hide; 
Though  thou  hast  seen  the  loved  by  death  struck  down, 

And  stand'st  alone  within  this  weary  world, 
The  Sun  must  shine,  though  clouds  awhile  may  frown, 

So  yet  for  thee  joy's  bow  may  be  unfuiTd 

Though  stitch  by  stitch  thy  food  is  earned  each  day, 

And  hungry  babes  may  cry  to  thee  for  bread, 
Oh!  pray  and  God  will  ope  a  brighter  way, 

Ask!  and  it  shall  be  given,  Emmanuel  said; 
'Tis  best  like  Lazarus  to  have  suffered  much, 

Nor  like  Dives  be  reckless  of  thy  soul, 
Christ  still  can  heal,  as  they  who  once  could  touch 

His  garments  hem,  found  all  their  plagues  made  whole. 

Then  cheer  sad  hearts,  nor  sorrowing  repine, 

With  faith's  pure  shield  march  on  through  all  thy  cares, 
Eternal  joys  may  yet  perchance  be  thine, 

He  wins  Heaven's  crown  who  most  Earth's  burthens  bears, 
Though  poverty  may  be  your  hapless  fates, 

Though  want  shall  tear  the  threads  of  life  apart, 
Seraphs  for  each  shall  ope  the  shining  gates, 

And  Jesus  fold  you  to  his  sinless  heart. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  133 


DISCORD. 

Oh!  never  let  foul  discord  come, 

Where  love  should  only  be; 
Tho'  sweet  the  song,  one  jarring  note, 

Destroys  the  melody. 
For  sure  where  angry  words  are  heard, 

Affection  cannot  dwell, 
Forbearance  is  the  holy  charm, 

Such  evil  pow'r  to  quell. 

And  mortal's  discord  should  not  come 

Where  heart  is  bound  to  heart; 
Ah!  know  where  Satan's  shafts  are  hurl'd, 

Love's  link  may  rend  apart. 
For  where  dissension  comes  between, 

It  breaks  true  sympathy, 
As  'mid  contending  elements 

Exists  no  harmony. 

Let  not  mischievous  demon's  pow'r, 

The  heart's  stern  passions  move, 
Home  is  the  place  where  gentleness 

Should  rule  with  perfect  love. 
See  how  God's  universe  moves  on, 

In  unity  divine, 
And  by  his  nobler  plan  direct, 

That  little  sphere  of  thine. 


134  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

POWER  OF  HOPE. 

Life  without  hope — oh!  'twere  a  cheerless  way, 
A  desert  vast,  whereon  no  fount  may  spring, 

For  e'en  as  sunbeam  gilds  the  light  of  day, 
So  hope  o'er  life  her  radiant  bow  doth  fling. 

The  mother  fond,  sends  forth  her  cherished  son, 
To  meet  and  combat  with  all  worldly  ill, 

In  fancy  oft  she  views  hope's  summit  won, 
And  visions  bright  her  doting  bosom  fill. 

The  lover  parteth  from  the  gentle  maid, 
Smiling  with  hope,  she  his  faith  believing, 

Admits  no  doubt  the  ideal  form  to  shade 

Within  her  soul  —no  thought  of  earth's  deceiving. 

In  sombre  room,  'mid  penury  and  woe, 

A  being  lies  in  poverty's  extreme, 
Starving,  and  ill,  yet  what  sustains  life's  flow, 

Within  that  form? — 'tis  hope's  exulting  beam. 

The  wife  marks  him  to  whom  her  vow  was  giv'n, 
Wasting  existence  for  inebriate's  grave; 

Yet  'mid  her  griefs  she  pleading  looks  to  heav'n, 
Trusting  to  hope,  that  God,  that  God  will  save. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  135 

Without  thee,  oh!  the  heart  might  never  bear 
With  life's  vexations,  'twere  a  darksome  way, 

Bleak  as  a  starless  night,  for  'mid  our  care, 
Tis  hope  sustains  us  with  her  quenchless  ray. 


LOVE  ME  WHILE  I'M  HERE. 

When  I  am  dead  weep  riot  in  gloom, 

Above  my  lowly  bier, 
Ah!  mourn  me  not  when  in  the  tomb, 

But  love  me  while  I'm  here. 

When  sorrow's  gloom  is  on  my  biow. 

Let  love  be  nigh  to  cheer; 
While  yet  on  earth  oh  prize  me  now, 

Yes,  love  me  while  I'm  here. 

What  comfort  bring  ye  to  the  dead 

By  mournful  sigh  or  tear  ? 
For  me  I'd  rather  tears  were  shed, 

When  woes  shall  meet  me  here. 

Though  I  the  lost  may  fondly  prize, 
And  mourn  them  sad  and  drear, 

I  ask  no  pangs  when  closed  mine  eyes, 
But  love  me  while  I'm  here. 


13G  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Oh!  give  me  kindly  words  of  truth, 
When  sorrows  hover  near; 

Ah!  weep  me  not  when  cold  in  death, 
But  love  me  while  I'm  here. 


THE  LITTLE  ANGEL. 

'Twas  when  the  golden  summer  bloom 'd, 

When  swift  the  shining  moments  pass, 
And  bright  the  clustering  roses  gleam' d, 

And  smiled  the  daisy  in  the  grass; 
Seern'd  there  an  angel  in  our  midst, 

With  cherub  face  and  ringlets  bright, 
But  God  has  ta'eii  our  heavenly  gift, 

Up  to  his  home  in  endless  light! 

No  more  we'll  hear  that  infant  voice, 

In  sweetness  lisp  and  mimic  word, 
No  more  we'll  hear  the  baby  laugh, 

Soft  as  the  song  of  summer  bird ; 
No  more  we'll  mark  the  red  lips  part, 

And  gleam  the  tiny  pearly  teeth, 
No  more  the  ivory  lids  unfold, 

And  show  the  heav'n-hued  eyes  beneath. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  137 

'Ere  yet  the  sturdy  Autumn  came, 

And  harvest  yet  had  reap'd  her  store, 
Our  bright  one  sought  that  better  world, 

Where  summer's  bloom  is  never  o'er; 
Scarce  had  we  dreamed  how  dear  thou  wert, 

How  fond  we  loved  thee  and  how  true, 
Till  death  had  hid  thy  tiny  form, 

Forever  from  our  longing  view. 

Now  stalwart  winter  robes  the  earth, 

With  snowy  wreath  and  gems  of  frost, 
And  mem'ry  wand'ring  o'er  the  past, 

In  anguish  weeps  the  loved  and  lost; 
Ceased  the  fond  mother  now  to  clasp 

Her  sinless  infant  to  her  breast; 
But  there's  a  balm  to  soothe  her  woe, 

We  know  that  thou  art  with  the  blest. 


NEVER  PUT  OFF  TILL  TO-MORROW. 

Ah!  never  put  off  'till  to-morrow 
What  God  has  assigned  for  to-day; 

Meet  life's  cares  each  moment  is  bringing — 
You'll  find  'tis  the  easiestjwajr. 


138  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Your  duties,  why  seek  to  avoid  them? 

Putting  off,  putting  off  all  you  can ; 
Face  evils  at  once  that  assail  you — 

You'll  find  'tis  the  happiest  plan, 

Your  sick  neighbor  sighs  for  your  coming, 
But  pleasures  allure  you  to-day ; 

Perchance  you  will  seek  him  to-morrow, 
And  meet  but  the  spiritless  clay. 

While  you  can,  to  homeless  and  starving, 
Of  your  comforts,  give  but  your  mite; 

For  the  angels  in  heaven  are  waiting, 
Each  moment  your  good  deeds  to  write. 

Let  plans  of  God's  Universe  teach  you 
How  each  law  His  will  doth  obey; 

Could  night's  darkness  wait  'till  to-morrow, 
And  gloom  on  the  beams  of  the  day? 

Could  seasons  the  work  heav'n  appoints  them. 

Put  off  even  moments  or  hours? 
Could  Summer — her  task  getting  weary — 

Wait  for  Autumn  to  blossom  her  flow'rs? 

Yet  we  mortals  with  thoughtless  presumption, 
Shrink  from  duties  each  day  should  be  borne; 

Aye!  waiting  to-morrow  to  do  them, 
That,  here,  for  us  never  may  dawn . 


FANCY'S  ETCHINCIS.  139 


MY  HEART'S  PRAYER. 

Father  of  mercy!  God,  in  pity  guide 

My  heart  in  virtue,  truth  and  holy  love, 
Keep  me  from  that  bright  path,  so  fair  and  wide, 

Teach  me  the  narrow  way  that  leads  above; 
All  selfish  feelings  cast  from  out  my  heart, 

My  mind  from  every  earthly  dreaming  win, 
Teach  me,  oh  Lord,  to  love  the  better  part, 

Nor  bow  my  soul  in  servitude  to  sin. 

Fom  our  wrung  hearts,  the  loving  and  the  true, 

But  late  stern  death  has  laid  within  the  tomb, 
Heaven's  glories  burst  upon  his  spirit's  view, 

While  we  bow  down  in  agonizing  gloom; 
My  God!  my  God,  'tis  hard  to  pait  with  those, 

We  e'en  have  cherished  as  an  angel  guest, 
To  know  the  kindly  eyes  for  aye  must  close 

E'en  though  we  feel  that  they  are  surely  blest. 

The  quivering  lips  in  struggling  anguish  cry, 

Thy  will  be  done — knowing  that  will  is  just, 
Yet  oh,  I'd  rather  lie  me  down  and  die, 

Than  have  a  loved  form  laid  within  the  dust. 
Fain  would  I  that  my  spirit  wings  were  furl'd, 

And  I  with  him  who  came  man's  soul  to  save, 
If  I  were  fitted  for  that  better  world, 

Fain  would  I  fly  beyond  the  silent  grave. 


140  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Perhaps  Thy  will  is,  I  on  earth  must  stay. 

For  one  who  yet  must  linger  sadly  on; 
To  chase  the  shadows  from  her  troubled  way, 

Until,  my  mother,  thou  thy  crown  hast  won, 
Then  teach  me,  Lord,  to  follow  him  on  earth, 

My  angel  brother — inspire  my  mortal  breast, 
With  all  the  virtues  that  made  up  his  worth, 

To  make  those  happy  whom  his  presence  blest. 

Not  for  himself  he  lived,  but  those  he  loved, 

No  selfish  passions  swayed  his  act  or  word, 
With  kindly  motives  every  heart-beat  moved, 

E'en  like  Bethsada  as  by  angels  stirred, 
Savior,  like  him,  oh  let  me  truly  be, 

Not  for  myself  to  feel,  but  others  woe, 
Until  the  gates  of  death  shall  ope  for  me, 

And  I  with  joy  our  loved  one's  weal  shall  know, 


LOOKING  INTO  EYES  THAT  LOVE  US. 

When  looking  into  eyes  that  love  us, 
And  seeing  there  our  image  gleam, 

While  the  glorious  stars  above  us, 
Watch  their  faces  in  the  stream; 

Listening  vows  of  tender  plighting, 
And  never  doubting  of  their  truth, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  141 

Not  a  thought  of  care,  or  blighting, 
Oh !  thus  the  dreamy  light  of  youth ! 

Ah!  could  it  only  last  forever, 

Would  hearts  were  faithful  as  they  seem, 
That  cruel  change  might  never — never, 

Make  clouds  where  sunshine  us'd  to  gleam; 
Would  mortals  aye  might  trust  each  other, 

Nor  malice  sever  friendship's  tie, 
But  each  like  sister,  and  like  brother, 

On  true  affection  e'er  rely. 

Would  we  might  look  in  eyes  that,  love  us, 

Nor  ever  fear  their  faithless  glow, 
Would  no  foreboding  thought  might  move  us, 

To  doubt  the  hearts  we  seem  to  know! 
Would  love  might  never  feel  a  blighting, 

That  all  were  faithful  as  they  seem. 
That  vows  might  never  cease  their  plighting, 

Nor  time  e'er  blast  youth's  happy  dream. 


DREAM  NOT  OF  CLOUDS  WHEN  SUNBEAMS 
SHINE. 

Warn  me  not  the  love  I  cherish, 

May,  like  the  sunlight,  pass  away, 
Say  not  e'er  affections  perish, 


142  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

E'en  like  the  fading  light  of  day, 
Rather  bid  glad  fancy  whisper, 

Of  fairer  scenes,  of  happier  hours, 
Let  new  born  hope,  the  cheerful  lisper, 

Paint  life  of  wreathing  beams  and  flowers. 

If  ills  come,  we  e'en  must  meet  them; 

But  let  the  present  hour  of  joy, 
With  no  forebodings  wait  to  greet  them, 

And  every  peaceful  thought  destroy; 
"lis  time  enough  to  bow  and  languish, 

When  stern  grief  wakes  thy  soul's  unrest, 
Oh!  think,  the  spectre  of  pale  anguish, 

Her  draught  to  Jesus'  lips  hath  prest. 

And  strive  with  all  thy  mortal  weakness, 

Whatever  woes  thy  steps  betide, 
To  imitate  our  Saviour's  meekness, 

When  the  sharp  spear  had  rent  bis  side; 
But  if  the  present's  filled  with  gladness, 

Be  thankful -that  such  peace  is  thine, 
Nor  paint  the  future  cloth'd  in  sadness, 

Dream  not  of  clouds  when  sunbeams  shine. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  143 

JUDGE  NOT,  LEST  YE  BE  JUDGED. 

Why  forever  seem  we  chiding, 

Our  hapless  neighbors  for  their  lacks, 

'Twere  better  all  their  failings  hiding, 
Than  heaping  burthens  on  their  backs. 

Just  look  at  home  with  fear  and  trembling, 

Are  all  but  virtues  there  we  see  ? 
Know  with  God  there's  no  dissembling, 

He  can  see  both  you  and  me. 

Why  a  generous  action  scouting  ? 

Thinking  all  a  mere  pretension; 
Why  every  kindly  feeling  doubting  ? 

Mocking  at  a  good  intention. 

Our  own  good  deeds  forever  vaunting, 
Doth  not  bespeak  a  righteous  heart, 

'Tis  not  by  sneering  gibes  and  taunting, 
True  virtue  acts  her  angel  part. 

If  in  strong,  delusive  blindness. 

Some  thoughtless  creature  turns  astray, 
Then  let  us  with  true  meaning  kindness, 

Point  them  again  the  better  way. 


144  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

'Twere  best  if  each  ourselves  preparing, 
To  fight  'gainst  Satan's  dark  assaults, 

Than  in  jeering  wonder 'staring, 
At  some  stumbling  mortals  faults. 

If  we  at  home  would  look  with  keenness, 
And  let  our  neighbors'  failings  rest, 

We  need  not  further  search  for  meanness, 
Than  in  our  frail  and  jeering  breast. 

A  view  of  self  might  make  a  little 
Kinder  judgment  of  our  brother, 

And  we  might  cease,  perchance,  to  whittle, 
Characters  for  one  another. 


JEALOUSY. 

Lo!  the  green  monster  sports  at  Linda's  heart, 
Gleams  in  her  smile  and  in  her  glances  dart, 
Tho'  at  her  shrine  proud  suitors  bend  the  knee, 
She  loves  but  one,  the  chosen  Ma  nf  re  die; 
While  at  another's  feet  she  views  him  kneeling, 
And  with  the  agony  of  slighted  feeling, 
Transfixed  she  stands  as  crazed  with  thoughts  intense, 
'Twas  thus  he  wooed  her  but  an  instant  thence. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  145 

And  does  lie  seek  to  win  another  now — 
Would  he  thus  perjure  his  late  plighted  vow? 
His  heart  so  soon,  oh!  could  it  seek  to  rove — 
Dare  he  thus  tamper  with  a  woman's  love? 
Her  pulses  leap,  her  eyes  grow  wildly  bright, 
And  her  flushed  cheeks  now  turn  to  ashey  white; 
She  tears  the  bright  wreath  from  her  pallid  brow, 
His  fingers  wove  and  flings  it  from  her  now 
In  very  scorn,  viewing  each  withe  ted  leaf 
So  late  in  bloom,  fit  emblem  of  her  grief; 
Now  vents  her  anguish  in  a  flood  of  tears, 
While  her  wrung  heart  is  madly  racked  with  fears, 
As  the  fierce  battling  of  the  winds  and  wave, 
E'en  so  her  thoughts  in  quick  confusion  rave. 

"Yet  does  she  hate  him?" — nay,  but  she  the  fair, 
That  heedless  won  him  in  her  simple  snare; 
(Too  apt  we  are  the  guiltless  one  to  blame 
And  brand  the  innocent  with  other's  shame). 
Reversed  the  scene,  and  lo !  amid  the  dance 
Fair  Linda  glides;  her  eyes  shoot  forth  a  glance 
Of  happy  triumph,  as  stately  by  her  side, 
A  proud  form  moves  with  all  a  lover's  pride — 

"But  where  is  Manfredie" — apart  he  stands 
With  heaving  breast  and  wildly  clasping  hands, 
Now  pressing  tightly  on  his  forehead  bare, 
As  if  to  still  the  thoughts  that  struggle  there 


146  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

In  hurried  strife,  his  pale  lips  part 

As  'twere  to  speak,  but  no  sound  doth  start 

The  voiceless  air,  while  his  o'er  burdened  brain 

Whirls  in  delirium,  every  nerve  doth  strain 

In  quick  convulsions, -while  o'er  his  soul, 

Fancies  like  fire- winged  meteors  roll; 

All  other  sound,  all  other  sense  is  lost 

In  this  one  sorrow — every  feeling's  tost 

And  mangled  in  the  embittered  fray. 

Yet  does  he  love  her  ?— yes,  as  sun  to  day, 

His  heart  still  clings,  his  idol's  still  divine, 

Tho' round  his  brain  mad  thoughts  like  serpents  twine. 

But  lo!  his  rival  at  his  feet  lies  bleeding, 

Oh!  jealousy,  tlwu  vip'rous  reptile  feeding 

On  human  heart*,  how  fearful  is  thy  power! 

Insat'ate  fiend,  'for  thee  the  mightiest  cower. 

Oh!  Earth's  deluded,  know  ye  his  demon  art 

That  wakes  such  feelings  in  the  mortal  heart? 


A  LIFE  SKETCH. 

Happy  we  wander'd  on  that  beaut'ous  shore, 

Where  'twas  our  wont  in  childhood's  hours  to  roam, 

Joyous  we  listen'd  to  proud  ocean's  roar 
Around  that  spot,  our  lovely  sea-girt  home; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  147 

Thou  wert  a  dreaming  child,  scarce  in  thy  teens, 
And  I  yet  blushing  to  that  time  so  fraught 

With  hope,  when  many  a  jeVel  rich  fancy  gleans 
From  out  the  poet's  treasury  of  thought; 

And  mirth  and  gladness  laugh'd  in  thy  bright  eye, 
While  rosy  tinges  flush' d  thy  downy  cheek. 

To  the  calm  past  we  gave  no  ling'ring  sigh. 

Ours  was  that  peace  the  tongue  might  fail  to  speak, 
So  exquisite  our  happiness  seem'd  there, 

All  things  around  were  fill'd  with  mirth  and  joy; 
Our  hearts  knew  not  the  voice  of  dark  despair, 

No  grief — no  ill  the  soul  would  e'er  annoy. 
Yet  oft  at  sorrow's  tale  the  trembling  tear 

Of  sympathy  into  the  eye  would  start, 
But  scarce  we  dream'd  that  grief  could  linger  here, 

Each  deeming  the  world  was  like  her  own  young  heart. 

But  change  and  death  brought  griefs  on  which  to  dwell 

In  thoughtful  hours,  tho'  crowding  years  forsooth, 
And  we  awaken'd  from  the  holy  spell. 

The  blissful  dream  that  lit  our  childish  youth, 
And  we  had  wander'd  from  that  sweet  retreat 

Unto  a  place  less  lovely,  where  no  flow'r 
Breath'd  on  the  summer  air  its  perfume  sweet, 

And  strange  and  weary  seem'd  each  passing  hour, 
Thy  cheeks  were  pale— care  dimm'd  thy  beaming  eye, 

While  the  sad  tear  of  sorrow  oft  wrould  flow, 


148  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  from  thy  breast  would  burst  the  heavy  sigh, 
Which  told  of  grief,  the  pangs  of  sudden  woe. 

But  there  came  change — the  mightiest  change  of  all, 

And  we  were  mingling  in  the  worldly  crowd; 
Gaily  we  glided  through  the  festive  hall, 

Where  music's  voice  rang  merrily  and  loud, 
And  we  were  far  from  that  delightful  shore, 

And  from  the  warble  of  our  rippling  stream, 
To  look  on  them — we  thought,  oh!  never  more, 

To  see  reflected  there  the  starlight  gleam ! 

Yet  we  were  gay,  though  in  the  world,  apart 

From  all  its  worldliness,  we  seem'd  as  one; 
Scarce  thought  arose  in  either  youthful  heart, 

The  other  knew  not;  and  so  time  roll'd  on. 
And  suitors  came  and  went,  and  came  again, 

Yet  still  united  walked  we  on  thro'  life; 
It  seem'd  a  mystic  and  a  mighty  chain 

Had  linked  our  souls  with  sweet  affection  rife. 

Ambition  oped  for  thee  her  gilded  arms, 

And  Fame's  loud  trumpet  in  proud  triumph  rang, 

Yet  neither  lur'd  thee  with  their  thousand  charms; 
In  vain  to  thee  their  wizard  voices  sane* 

O  9 

The  patriot,   statesman,  noblest  of  the  land, 

In  homage  wooed;  proud  hearts  bow'd  low  to  thee; 

It  seem'd  some  nymph  had  waved  her  mystic  wand, 
And  clothed  thee  with  a  spell  of  witchery. 


149 

Yet  thou,  unconscious  of  thy  winning  power, 

In  duty's  path  to  walk  dost  simply  try, 
As  all  so  innocent  the  fairest  flow'r, 

In  adoration  chains  the  gazer's  eye. 
Though  lauding   crowds   proclaim'd   thy   mind's  great 
worth , 

And  many  came  to  win  thy  gentle  heart, 
Yet  thou  could'st  turn  from  all  the  praise  of  earth, 
In  humble  faith  to  act  thy  mortal  part. 

Loving  and  kind  in  ev'ry  deed  and  word, 

Ah!  blessed  heart  that  claims  thy  truthful  love, 
Thou  gifted  one;  heaven  alone  has  stirr'd 

Thy  pow'r  of  genius;  nought  but  God  could  move, 
And  wake  an  earthly  lyre  with  strain  like  thine, 

And  though  so  shrinking  from  the  blaze  of  fame, 
Yet  she  for  thee  her  crowning  wreath  shall  twine, 

And  sing  to  nations  thy  immortal  name. 

What  next  shall  change  ?  for  thou  and  I  no  more 
Watch  the  glad  sunlight  gild  our  favorite  stream; 

With  those  beloved  we  dwell  far  from  that  shore; 
Sister,  at  most  life's  but  a  changing  dream. 


10 


150  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

SONG. 

I  love  thee  still,  I  love  thee  still, 

As  in  those  faded  hours, 
When  fancies  elves  their  glories  wove, 

Of  sunny  beams  and  flowers; 
I  love  thee,  tho,  thine  eyes  are  dim, 

Tho'  cheek  and  lips  have  faded, 
To  me  there's  beauty  on  thy  brow, 

By  trace  of  grief  o'er  shaded. 

I  love  thee  still,  I  love  the  still, 

As  in  those  days  departed, 
'Ere  sorrow  left  thee  stricken  thus 

Bereft  and  broken  hearted; 
I  love  thee  still — and  as  to  earth, 

Returns  the  morning's  beaming, 
So  thoughts  in  rapture  clings  to  thee, 

Like  star  in  mem'ry  gleaming. 


SING  FOR  THE  BOWL. 

Sing  for  the  bowl,  the  sparkling  bowl, 
As  it  glowing  meets  the  lips, 

Sing  'tis  death  to  the  human  soul, 
And  a  curse  to  him  who  sips. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  151 

Ah !  fly  from  one  who  loves  the  gleam, 
Of  the  red  wine's  shining  glance, 

Though  thou'rt  charm 'd  by  love's  happy  dream, 
Break,  break  from  its  blissful  trance. 

Maiden  fair  with  the  .crimson  cheeks, 

And  sorrowless,  hopeful  heart, 
Turn  from  the  flattering  words  he  speaks, 

For  Oh!  each  is  Satan's  dart. 

Though  he  kneels,  a  suppliant,  at  thy  feet, 

Oh!  heed  not  his  fervent  vow; 
He  finds  the  ruby  wine  more  sweet 

Than  a  kiss  from  that  snowy  brow. 

Beware  his  glance,  it3  burning  glow, 

May  thy  gentle  bosom  win, 
Fly  from  its  spell  ere  waked  to  know, 

That  a  demon  hides  within. 

Thou  joyous  bride,  the  flowers  that  now, 

Are  wreathing  thy  lovely  head, 
'Twere  better  they  had  decked  thy  brow, 

Among  the  glorious  dead. 

Weary  watcher  through  night  so  drear, 
Thou  may'st  pine  in  sorrow  gaunt, 

While  thy  restless  babe,  is  nestling  near, 
Moaning  in  pitiful  want. 


152  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Thou  of  a  broken  heart  may'st  tell, 
But  a  wreck  of  mad  despair, 

Where  once  but  smiles  of  joy  would   dwell, 
Of  a  brow  now  seam'd  with  care. 

Sing  then,  the  bowl,  the  sparkling  bowl! 

As  it,  glowing,  meets  the  lips, 
Sing  'tis  death  to  the  human  soul, 

And  a  curse  to  him  who  sips. 


WHY  DID  YE  GANG  AWA. 

Willie  why  did  ye  gang  awa 

Frae  ane  who  dearly  lo'ed  ye? 
Sin'  then  mony  a  laddie  braw, 

Has  fondly  sought  and  wooed  me: 
But  still  my  puir  heart  sighs  and  pines; 

For  oh!  it  lo'ed  thee  mickle, 
An'  still  luv's  spell  my  bosom  twines, 

For  ane  sae  fause  an  fickle. 

Come  back  as  in  the  days  gane  by. 

An'  to  your  breast  enfold  me, 
Come  breath  again  wi'  gentle  sigh, 

Sweet  vows  as  aiice  ye  told  me; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  153 

In  vain  my  dotin'  heart  may  plead, 

In  vain  my  tears  an'  sighin', 
Ye  wadna  to  my  cry  tak  heed, 

Though  Nellie's  sel'  were  dyin'. 


OUK  COUNTBY. 

All  mournfully  like  solemn  dirge. 

Throughout  our  land  is  sent; 
The  widow  and  the  orphan's  wail; 

The  mother's  sad  lament. 

See  Liberty  with  ghastly  mien, 
With  precious  life  blood  stained; 

Of  martyrs  who  to  save  her  fall, 

Their  hearts'  last  drop  have  drained. 

Antietam  on  thy  ghastly  field. 

The  moon's  sad  gleamings  shed, 
Where  dying  men  in  helpless  woe, 

Lay  heaped  among  the  dead. 

'Twere  well  if  then  our  mother  earth, 

Had  ope'd  her  gory  breast, 
And  in  her  heart  each  pain  racked  soul, 

Had  folded  into  rest. 


154  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Crush  this  rebellion,  freedom's  sons, 

Thrust  down  each  traitor  knave, 
And  from  disunion's  fearful  curse; 

Our  lovely  country  save. 

At  Gettysburg  we  drove  them  back 

Like  chaff  by  wild  winds  blown; 
Oh!  braver  men  than  our's  were  there, 

The  world  has  never  known. 

Through  every  State  the  tocsin  rings, 

Of  bloody  war's  alarms; 
The  soldier  clasps  his  weeping  wife, 

Within  his  sturdy  arms; 

His  country  calls  and  they  must  part, 

No  more  perchance  to  meet, 
Until  the  angel  Death  shall  bear, 

Each  to  the  Savior's  feet. 

Lo!  *PORTER  the  brave  hero  boy, 

Last  of  that  gallant  band, 
So  dauntlessly  he  met  the  foe, 

All  proudly  did  he  stand; 

*At  the  Battle  of  Roaiioke  Island,  when  all  his  men  had  fallen 
around  him,  Benjamin  F.  Porter  stood  bravely  to  his  guns,  daunt 
lessly  loading  and  discharging,  and  alone  nobly  defended  his  position 
against  the  rebels  until  relieved  by  Hawkin's  Zouaves. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  155 

The  rest  had  fallen  'mid  shell  and  shot, 

And  yet  that  fearless  son, 
The  battle  faced  triumphantly, 

Till  victory  was  won. 

Tears,  heart-rung  tears,  in  lava  floods, 

In  thousand  homes  are  shed; 
Above  the  loved  in  battle  slain, 

Columbia's  patriot  dead: 

A  LTON,  BAKER,  ELLSWORTH  too, 

Who  died  our  flag  to  save; 
And  every  noble  volunteer, 

That  fills  a  soldier's  grave. 

Though  Vicksburg  cost  us  many  a  life, 

Ere  yet  the  siege  was  done; 
Thousands  of  prisoners  crowned  our  arms, 

When  we  the  field  had  won; 

And  Sumpter  she  shall  yet  be  ours, 

Though  mighty  be  the  fray ; 
Our  shell,  like  heaven-sent  thunderbolts, 

Shall  rend  her  walls  away. 

Our  BANKS,  our  BUTLER,  BURNSIDE,  GRANT, 

Have  led  their  valiant  men, 
And  met  base  treason  in  his  hold, 

Like  lion  in  his  den. 


156  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Hungry  and  weary  they  have  rushed, 

To  battle  with  the  foe 
On  many  a  field — and  proudly  oft 

They've  struck  the  conqueror's  blow. 

Mangled  and  maimed,  fathers  and  sons, 

Lie  on  their  pallets  low, 
While  some  in  maniac  frenzy  rave, 

'Mid  fever's  quenchless  glow; 

In  vain  the  dying  soldier  mourns, 
To  grasp  some  friendly  hand; 

The  fainting  breath,  the  glazing  eye, 
Then  stills  life's  ebbing  sand. 

Oh,  Liberty!  what  tears;  what  blood, 
Hath  dimmed  thy  precious  ray! 

How  could  fell  traitors  meanly  dare 
Sweet  freedom  to  betray  ? 

When  like  the  sun  shall  thy  blessed  beams 

Shine  through  our  stricken  land  ? 
And  States  in  peaceful  bonds  unite. 
As  friends  clasp  hand  with  hand. 

Our  country  wails  her  noblest  sons, 

Slain  'mid  the  fearful  strife; 
Where  brother  sends  the  knelling  shot, 

That  stills  a  brother's  life; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  157 

How  long,  how  long,  our  people  moan, 

Shall  this  sad  havoc  be? 
Oh,  God  ?  a  weeping  nation  cries 

For  succor  unto  thee. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  MARIPOSA. 

My  valley  home,  my  heart  with  rapture  thrills, 

As  gazing  now  on  thy  majestic  hills, 

While  high  t®  heav'n  each  holds  his  noble  crest, 

In  fading  hues  of  dying  verdure  drest, 

Each  proudly  wears  his  coronet  of  trees, 

Tossing  their  leaflets  in  the  dancing  breeze; 

But  down  their  jagged  sides  the  beamy  rill 

Hath  no  glad  soDg  of  laughing  joy  to  trill, 

And  on  the  wild  flow'r  in  her  grassy  nest. 

The  burning  Sol  his  parting  kiss  hath  prest. 

Here  boasting  pride  doth  no  proud  mansion  raise, 

Whose  painted  windows  flaunt  the  sunny  blaze, 

With  frescoed  hills,  and  high  uprearing  dome, 

As  yet  in  thee,  the  modest  cottage  home, 

The  peasant's  choice  hath  sheltered  poor  and  great, 

As  if  all  generous  here  the  God  of  Fate 

His  kindly  gifts  more  equally  had  spread, 

As  day's  glad  beams  alike  to  all  are  shed. 

Tho'  once  'mid  proudest  magnates  of  our  land, 


158  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

My  way  hath  been— the  true,  the  tender  hand 
Of  fond  affection  would  I  far  more  prize, 
Than  tinsel'd  wealth,  with  feelings's  sacrifice; 
Where  faith  and  love  are  cast  away  for  show, 
That  soon  may  pass  e'en  like  the  melting  snow, 
To  leave  us  wrecked  and  'lorn  till  we  again 
Rouse  up  to  know  that  earthly  pomp  is  vain. 
Ah,  sure  contentment  here  might  peaceful  rest, 
Nor  fear  the  stab  of  envy  in  her  breast. 
How  fair  thy  vales  for  sighing  swain  to  rove, 
With  her  the  chosen  Hebe  of  his  love, 
While  Luna  wreaths  with  light  the  griefless  way, 
Where  they  in  love's  enchanted  moments  stray; 
Oh,  many  a  pleasing  tale  with  myst'ry  rife, 
Thy  rocks  could  tell  of  the  wild  Indian's  life, 
Of  maid  and  chief,  and  warriors  bold  and  brave, 
That  now  have  past  on  time's  destroying  wave. 
Fair  Mariposa — nature's  sweet  retreat, 
Far  from  the  hum  of  cities'  busy  feet, 
Girded  by  mounts  whose  summits  tow'ring  high, 
Like  giant  wraiths  stand  'gainst  the  twilight  sky; 
Thy  wond'rous  charms  my  dreaming  soul  inspire, 
To  wake  for  thee  my  long  neglected  lyre; 
Once  more  I  clasp  the  loved  of  childhood's  day 
As  was  my  wont — my  joyful  children  play 
At  grandpa's  knee— oh!  happiness  complete, 
The  peaceful  hearth  where  the  home  faces  meet. 
Here  Summer  as  a  happy  infant  wakes, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  159 

And  o'er  the  hills  her  sunny  tresses  shakes, 
While  Flora  from  her  rosy  fingers  show'rs 
Her  jeweled  wreaths  of  fairy  rainbow  flow'rs; 
Pomona  lovely,  in  her  regal  charms, 
The  varied  fruits  bears  in  her  rounded  arms, 
While  ripening  grapes  her  shining  girdle  twine, 
And  in  the  sunbeams  like  bright  rubies  shine. 
But  fading  Autumn  comes  with  churlish  mien 
To  blast  the  flow'rs  and  fade  the  leaflets  green, 
The  rose's  heart  touched  by  his  frosty  breath, 
Helpless  expires  in  sudden  throes  of  death; 
Winter  his  angry  draught  of  storms  doth  quaff, 
Rude  winds  shall  howl  as  if  the  demon's  laugh 
Had  echoed  from  the  dark  myster'ous  bow'rs 
Of  imp  and  fiend,  in  this  glad  world  of  our's, 
And  rains  o'er  dingle,  dale,  and  dark  isl'd  woods, 
In  gleaming  shafts  shall  pour  their  dashing  floods. 
But  blithesome  Spring  like  some  coquettish  maid, 
Must  come  again  and  dance  o'er  hill  and  glade, 
And  wheresoe'er  her  fay-like  footsteps  pass, 
Shall  spring  the  clover  and  the  daisied  grass; 
I  love  thy  vales,  I  love  thy  balmy  breeze, 
That  fan  my  cheek — far,  far  across  the  seas 
I  left  my  home,  to  seek  for  health  in  thee, 
And  thou  hast  proved  new  life,  indeed,  to  me. 


160  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

THE   WINTER  WINDS. 

Chill,  chill  and  cold,  blows  the  winter  winds, 
Thro'  nook  and  crevice  cramping; 

Over  the  hill,  and  over  the  vale, 
Like  battling  Furies  tramping. 

Who  smiles  to  greet  ye!  oh!  who  may  hail  ? 

Who  joys  to  meet  ye  again  ? 
Penury's  nurslings,  poverty's  brood 

Can  they  bless  your  cheerless  reign. 

With  ye  comes  sorrow,  sickness,  and  pain, 
With  ye  conies  want  and  weeping; 

The  shelterless  form,  the  pauper's  death, 
The  heart  with  terror  heaping. 

What  tho'  with  draping  so  pearly  white, 
The  trees  so  gorgeous  dressing; 

Who  gladdens  to  meet  ye — frosty  elves, 
Who  hails  your  bleak  caressing. 

Come,  cease  the  tones  o'er  the  blasted  earth, 
Of  your  wild  and  boist'rous  singing, 

For  ever  to  ye  the  trio  grim; 

Death,  Woe,  and  Want,  are  clinging. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  161 

To  thee,  oh!  God,  'mid  every  ill, 

The  faithful  heart  is  turning! 
For  thou  art  the  lowly  being's  friend, 

Whom  the  thoughtless  world  is  spurning. 


MOCK  ME  NOT  WITH  FLITT'BING  WILES. 

Nay,  mock  me  not  with  flatt'ring  wiles, 

Be  honest,  candid,  just, 
I  love  to  list  to  truthful  words 

I  fearlessly  may  trust; 
The  welcome  smile,  the  kindly  glance, 

The  guileless  manly  speech, 
I  love  them — fashion's  studied  arts, 

My  heart  may  never  reach. 

Nay,  woo  me  not  with  flatt'ring  words, 

For  me  they  have  no  spell, 
But  all  thy  heart's  true  sentiments, 

In  homely  phrases  tell; 
I  would  not  hear  vain  praises  sang, 

'Till  I  would  almost  dream, 
Myself  the  ideal,  fancied  nymph, 

Thou  fain  would'st  make  me  seem. 


162  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


MY  MOTHER. 

My  sainted  mother — gone  from  earth  and  me, 

My  soul  in  agony  laments  thy  loss, 
Like  the  mad  swelling  of  the  stormy  sea, 
When  the  wild  waves  in  hurried  frenzy  toss; 
So  felt  my  heart  when  gazing  on  thy  face, 
Where  Death,  the  victor,  left  his  whiten'd  trace. 

With  angel  patience  thou  didst  calmly  bear 

The  racking  pangs  that  pierced  thy  faded  form, 
Still  trusting  meekly  to  our  Savior's  care, 
To  take  the  safely  thro'  death's  rending  storm; 
And  thou  hast  past  into  heaven's  endless  rest, 
To  lean  in  peace  on  Jesus'  tender  breast. 

Oh !  mother — mother — my  heart's  highest  love, 

Thou  idol,  treasur'd  dearer  far  than  life, 
And  can'st  thou  now  from  that  bright  home  above, 
Look  on  thine  own  amid  earth's  scenes  of  strife  ? 
Do'st  thou,  dear  mother,  fond  and  earnest  pray 
That  we  shall  meet  thee  in  eternal  day  ? 

My  God!  my  God!  rings  on  my  throbbing  brain, 
The  words  thy  cherished  lips  had  uttered  last, 
'Ere  as  convulsed  by  some  destroying  pain, 
Thy  gentle  spirit  had  forever  past; 

Thine  earnest  eyes  seem  gazing  on  me  now, 
While  my  heart  writhes  in  agonizing  wo. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS-.  163 

So  linked — so  knit— my  being  was  with  thine, 

My  soul  with  thee  seem'd  struggling  forth  to  go. 
But  thou  hast  passed— and  we  in  anguish  pine 
'Neath  the  sad  tortures  of  Fate's  keenest  blow; 
But  Faith  still  whispers  'mid  care's  blighting  pain, 
That  we  shall  meet  thee,  mother — meet  again. 

And  thou  hast  left  me — kind  and  loving  hearts, 

Who  hold  with  me  thy  very  mem'ry  dear, 
And,  hand  in  hand,  we'll  strive  to  do  our  parts 
In  Christian  deeds — until  those  waters  clear 
Of  never-ending  life  burst  on  our  sight, 
And  we  behold  thee  there  a  seraph  bright. 


FANCY  AND  LOYE. 

Oh  what  is  love  the  Poets  theme, 

A  gilded  toy — a  passing  dream, 

A  silken  cord  to  gentl}T  bend 

Together  kindred  heart,  and  mind, 

A  breath  of  air — a  fleeting  sigh, 

A  Meteor  in  the  summer  sky, 

Thus  false  hearts  deem  loves  truth  will  pall, 

As  fancy's  Castles  fade  and  fall. 

The  perfume  exhaled  by  a  flow'r, 


164  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

That  blooms,  and  dies,  within  an  hour; 

On  thee  no  lasting  seal  is  set, 

Thou'rt  here — thou'rt  gone  —and  they  forget, 

A  dream  forgotten  when  past  by, 

A  rainbow  in  a  stormy  sky, 

A  Lute's  tone  borne  upon  the  wind, 

That  leaves  no  memory  behind. 

A  charm  that  fades  like  mist  away, 

A  snow-flake  in  the  blaze  of  day; 

A  bright,  a  gorgeous  butterfly, 

That  with  the  roses  breath  must  die; 

A  spell  that  doth  as  quickly  pass. 

As  beauty  mirror'd  in  the  glass. 

The  soft  sweet  tone— the  bright  eyes  glance, 

All  fade  when  waking  from  this  trance, 

All  fade — nor  e'er  return  again, 

As  flitting  cloud,  or  April  rain; 

A  spell  tbe  heart's  surface  shading, 

Like  moonbeams  from  the  waters  fading. 

A  Silver  Lake  whereon  doth  beam, 

The  first,  and  last  of  starlights'  gleam, 

But  which  when  dark  clouds  o'er  it  low'r. 

Doth  lose  its  bright  reflecting  pow'r, 

Thus  love  they  say  thy  dreamings  end, 

When  shadows  with  thy  sunlight  blend. 

Thus  groveling  Nature's  dream  loves  art, 

The  POWER  that  STIRS  the  FAITHLESS  HEART, 

And  ever  nurse  the  wierd  deceit, 

Of  Elfish  fancy,  FICKLE  CHEAT, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  165 


And  call  it  LOVE'S  ETERNAL  POW'R — 
That  bee-like  flits  from  flow'r  to  flow'r. 
From  fair,  to  fair,  they  changing  roam, 
Nor  seek  the  sweet  content  of  home; 
Choosing  from  all  the  world  beside, 
A  true,  a  faithful,  loving  bride; 
THE  EDEN  PICTURE  OF  OUR  EARTH, 
TWO  CONSTANT  HEARTS  BESIDE  ONE  HEARTH. 
That  is  not  Love,  the  fickle  wight, 
That  like  Chameleon  with  the  light, 
Changes  for  aye  from  hue  to  hue, 
But  fancy — faithless  and  untrue, 
Love — Essence  from  the  pow'r  above, 
Thou  gift  divine  for  God  is  love! 


11 


PEAN  FOR  LIBERTY 

America  I  sing  of  thee, 

"Thou  land  of  freedom  and  the  free, 

Home  of  the  Sons  of  Liberty. 

Long  with  the  records  of  thy  fame, 

Shall  blend  our  country's  patriots'  name, 

Not  he — like  stern  Napoleon, 

For  glory  of  an  earthly  throne, 

And  fame  that  false  ambition  yields, 


166  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

For  self — would  wade  through  gory  fields, 
But  struck  to  succor  and  to  save, 
OUR  WASHINGTON — the  nobly  brave. 
That  name  shall  ring  from  age  to  age 
And  thrill  the  hero  and  the  sage; 
While  nations  hail  from  ev'ry  strand, 
The  soil  where  Freedom  waved  her  brand! 
As  Jove's  voice  sounding  through  the  sky. 
When  mount  and  rock  in  turn  reply: 
As  streams  the  sunlight  from  on  high; 
So  all  earth  yet  her  seas  shall  lave, 
While  thrones  sink  down  beneath  the  wave, 
And  monarchies  and  kingdoms  fall, 
Like  meteors  from  night's  starry  wall. 
Well  may  the  eagle  soar  on  high, 
And  dart  into  the  beaming  sky, 
The  emblem  of  our  liberty. 
A  curse  is  on  our  lovely  land, 
For  martyrs'  blood  hath  stained  the  hand 
Of  her  white  men — the  butchered  slareK, 
That  cry  from  their  forgotten  graves, 
Who  perished  'neath  the  lash's  wounds, 
Or  torn  to  death  by  murderous  hounds. 
My  God!  was  it  before  thine  eyes, 
Fort  Pillow's  fiendish  sacrifice  ? 
Or  did'st  thou  turn  aside  and  pause, 
Till  these  slave  men  for  freedom's  cause, 
Had  given  as  offering  their  poor  lives, 
Which  thou,  just  God,  wilt  not  despise: 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  167 

Does  it  seem  just,  and  right,  and  wise, 

That  blood  must  wash  away  the  stain, 

Left  011  our  land  by  slavery's  chain  ? 

Nailed  to  the  cross  like  thy  dear  Son, 

Did'st  mark  them  there  each  quivering  one, 

Then  thrust  in  graves  ere  life  was  done,* 

Sure  each,  heaven's  brightest  crown  hath  won, 

To  link  thy  States  fair  sisterhood, 

Brave  men  have  given  their  heart's  best  blood, 

A  fearful,  yet  a  precious  flood. 

"Where  freedom  laves  her  fest'ring  hands, 

Still    bound  by  slavery's  rotting  bands, 

But  soon  shall  rend  the  cank'ring  chain; 

For  like  Atlantics  stormy  main, 

The  armies  meet  like  battling  waves, 

'Fore  our  brave  men  those  traitor  knaves 

Must  flee — or  like  mean  dastards  die, 

And  fill  foul  graves  of  infamy. 

Treason  doth  thy  escutcheon  stain, 

But  soon  must  end  her  sanguine  reign, 

With  breaking  of  the  bondsman's  chain . 

Though  factions  striving  to  divide, 

Cast  justice,  equal  rights  aside, 

Trampling  Libertas  to  the  earth, 

Like  Phoenix,  she'll  renew  her  birth! 


*\Vhen  the  Southerners  captured  Fort  Pillow,  they  crucified  the 
negroes,  and  taking  them  from  the  crosses  while  yet  alive,  buried 
them . 


168  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Still,  still  united  thou  shalt  be. 

And  mock  the  demon  knavery; 

Inviting  now,  but  foulest  heart, 

To  tear  thy  struggling  limbs  apart, 

Thy  glorious  States— the  social  chain, 

That  binds  them  in  a  sister  train, 

What  fiend  would  rend  the  link  in  twain  ? 

Columbia — my  native  shore, 

Thy  very  sunlight  I  adore; 

Long  may  thy  vessels  plow  the  seas, 

And  spread  their  canvass  to  the  breeze, 

And  heaven  defend  the  gallant  tars 

That  man  them  'neath  thy  stripes  and  stars. 

Still  commerce  pour  from  ev'ry  land, 

And  fling  her  treasures  on  thy  strand; 

While  there's  a  voice,  thy  praise  be  sung, 

And  shouted  on  from  tongue  to  tongue. 

Thou  land  of  freedom  and  the  free, 

I  join  the  song  of  liberty, 

My  loved  America,  for  thee. 


TKUST  ON. 

"  JTis  each  one  for  himself,  and  our  God  for  us  nil," 
A  motto  that  governs  our  world  in  a  measure, 

Tho'  with  semblance  of  friendship  some  fondly  may  greet, 
Too  oft  'tis  you  add  to  their  gain,  or  their  pleasure  ;• 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  169 

Yet  brave  hearts  there  are.     Yes  the  candid  and  true, 
But  'tis  not  at  the  feast,  or  revel  they're  nigh; 

And  in  moments  of  grief  when  sorrows  beset  us, 
That  the  voice  of  pure  sympathy  hushes  the  sigh. 

Let  not  mistrust  like  a  spectre  e'er  haunt  you, 

Tho'  thy  faith  were  betrayed  and  confidence  shaken, 
Gild  the  future  with  hope,  for  all  are  not  false. 

Still  trust  though  reality  bids  you  awaken; 
If  soft  words  of  kindness  and  gentleness  bless  you. 

Never  doubt — for  in  truth  and  affection  believing; 
'Tis  happier  far  than  to  live  in  suspicion, 

Still  to  BLINDLY  TRUST  ON  tho'  all  were  deceiving. 


LINES  TO  JEAN. 

Though  each  act  and  wcrd  be  cherish'd, 
So  fondly  now  beloved  by  tliee, 

If,  perchance,  this  form  had  perished, 
How  soon  it  might  forgotten  be! 


o 


I  have  seen  the  prized — late  lying- 
in  her  mouldering  earthly  bed; 

I  have  watched  dear  mem'ries  dying. 
Swift  as  withered  leaves  are  shed. 


170  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

When  for  aye  these  eyes  are  closing, 
Thou  may'st  sigh  with  sad  regret, 

But  'ere  long  in  death  reposing, 
Thou  might'st  too,  beloved  forget. 

Forgot — forgot — alone — forsaken, 

By  those  who  look  and  word  would  prize, 

Oh!  say  at  times  my  mem'ry  '11  awaken, 
And  mirth  give  way  to  weary  sighs. 

Not  that  I  would  thou  should'st  languish, 
If  heaven  should  sever  heart  from  heart, 

O'er  fates'  decrees  ne'er  bend  in  anguish, 
Bear  on,  whate'er  thy  earthly  part; 

But  oh!  not  for  this  world's  gay  pleasure, 
Cast  my  lone  image  from  thy  soul; 

There  let  it  live — a  simple  treasure, 

'Till  life's  last  sadden'd  chime  shall  toll. 


THE  WIFE'S  DEVOTION. 

Forget  thee  ?  no!  by  all  the  heart  wrung  tears, 
For  thee  I've  wept,  by  the  long  trust  of  years, 
By  the  bless'd  vow  that  knit  our  hearts  in  one, 
Thou  know'st  I  love,  thou  seem'st  to  me  a  sun 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  171 

To  light  my  way,  and  love,  oh !  love,  hast  thou 
Forgot  that  hour,  when,  by  our  mutual  vow 
By  angels  sealed,  though  made  on  mortal  earth, 
Each  swore  to  love  thro'  care,  thro'  joy  and  mirth  ? 

Forget  thee?  no!  until  in  death  I  sleep, 
I'll  trust  in  love,  still,  still  my  heart  shall  keep 
Its  pledge  to  thee,  tho'  sorrow's  chilling  blight 
Should  kill  my  peace,  and  life  seem  one  long  night! 
I'll  love  thee  still,  tho'  time  and  seasons  range, 
Within  my  heart  thou  ne'er  shalt  trace  a  change! 
Full  well  thou  know'st  whatever  my  fate  may  be, 
Thou 'It  ever  be  as  dear  as  now  to  me! 


THE  SOLDIER'S  DYING  WIFE. 

Fold  me  closer,  I  am  dying, 

Heavenly  anthems  greet  mine  ears, 
Oh!  I  hear  the  angel  minstrels 

Chant  the  music  of  the  spheres; 
On  the  fearful  field  of  battle, 

Where  Death's  missiles  pour'd  like  rain, 
My  husband,  my  beloved  one, 

Lay  bleeding  'mong  the  slain. 


172  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

They  wrapt  him  in  the  Stars  and  Stripes, 

Wet  with  his  drops  of  life — 
Shall  he  not  come  a  spirit  bright, 

To  meet  his  dying  wife  ? 
Fain  would  I  watch  that  clay  cold  form, 

As  Juana*  once  so  vain, 
Waited  for  heaven  to  give  her  back 

Her  chosen  knight  again. 

I  have  loved  thee  well,  my  country, 

And  bade  my  dear  one  go, 
And  for  thy  rights  and  Liberty, 

To  battle  with  the  foe. 
I  sacrificed  mine  earthly  peace 

At  Freedom's  storm-beat  shrine, 
And  now  for  thee  I  offer  up 

This  broken  heart  of  mine. 

Ah !  I  have  pined  for  weary  days, 
But  Life's  cords  gave  way  at  last; 

I'll  hail  the  hour  when  this  worn  soul 
From  weary  earth  has  passed. 

My  tiny  babe,  with  seraph  mien, 

*  Juana,  mother  of  the  Emperor  Charles  the  V,  upon  the  death  of 
her  husband,  Phillip  the  Handsome,  of  Austria,  had  his  body  laid  in 
state,  magnificently  dressed,  and  watched  over  it  in  the  hope  of  re 
turning  life,  until  from  its  state  of  decomposition  she  could  endure  it 
no  longer. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  173 

Smiles  in  estatic  joy; 
Grim  Death,  hold  back  thy  fatal  spell, 
And  spare  me  to  my  boy  ! 

Fold  me  closer,  I  am  dying, 

Colder  grows  my  gasping  breath; 
Fold  me  closer,  oh!  my  mother, 

For  I  feel  the  chill  of  Death. 
Faint  and  fainter  comes  each  whisper, 

Sad  the  weary  eyelids  close; 
Slowly  ebb  life's  surging  ripples 

To  Death's  quieting  repose. 


DAWN. 

Lovely  she  wakes  as  from  Elysian  bow'rs, 

Some  goddess  fair  dawned  on  our  mortal  sight; 

Lovely  she  wakes  as  on  a  throne  of  flow'rs, 
Celestial  form  in  glory's  robes  bedight; 

O'er  nature's  quiet  in  full  grandeur  breaking, 

The  eastern  skies  in  floods  of  brightness  laking. 

While  like  a  vanquished  Queen  the  dim  night  yieldeth, 
Till  the  last  star  withdraws  its  timid  glances; 

And  morn  the  victors  sceptre  proudly  wieldeth, 
As  on  triumphal  car  she  slow  advances; 


174  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

The  earth  and,  air  with  roseate  hues  caressing, 
Seeming  to  breathe  o'er  all  a  whispered  blessing. 

The  sparkling  beauty  of  her  light  distilling, 

O'er  all  the  world  in  floods  of  amber  streaming, 

The  void  of  space  with  flames  of  glory  filling, 

While  in  the  East  the  gorgeous  clouds  are  gleaming; 

As  't  were  forgiving  heav'ns  resplendent  portals, 

Inviting  ope'd  to  us  repentant  mortals. 

Seeming  to  bear  to  all  a  holy  greeting, 
From  the  immortal,  the  ethereal  band; 

The  thoughtful  skies  in  robes  of  splendor  sheeting, 
As  'twere  reflections  from  that  better  land; 

Our  truant  hearts  from  this  dark  earth  to  win 

Unto  that  world  where  never  entereth  sin. 

The  Tyrian  dyes  like  Seraph  wings  outspreading, 
O'er  the  deep  quiet  of  the  heavenly  plain; 

Now  far  and  near  their  changeful  glances  shedding, 
And  pouring  to  earth  like  gems  of  golden  rain; 

Till  the  dazzling  Monarch  of  the  day  ascends, 

And  with  her  light  his  fiery  shafting  blends. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  175 

THE  MOTHEK'S  WATCH. 

O'er  her  daughter's  form  a  mother  wept, 

Where  hover'd  the  spectre  of  death; 
And  her  sad  heart  throbbed  in  sorrow  deep, 
As  she  listeii'd  the  fainting  breath; 
That  went  and  came, 
Through  the  heaving  frame, 
With  quick  convulsive  rushing; 
In  hurried  flow, 
Quiver  and  thro', 
The  tide  of  life  was  gushing. 

Eve's  hour  had  past,  and  the  midnight  dawn'd, 

Yet  the  "  Vital  Spark"  remained; 
But  more  feebly  and  ever  fainter, 
Life's  flickering  taper  waned, 
With  sorrow  wild, 
Above  her  child. 
She  prayed  for  morning's  light; 
There  sad  weeping, 
And  lone  keeping, 
Her  drear  vigil  thro'  the  night. 

And  yet,  she  dreamed  of  life  and  health, 

'Aye  the  truant  hope  believing; 
Still  fancy  pictured  years  to  come, 

The  mother's  heart  deceiving. 


176  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  in  her  breast, 

Grief  sank  to  rest, 
And  joy  its  radiance  shed, 

But  e'er  dawning, 

Of  the  morning, 
The  vision  bright  had  fled. 

And  bowed  in  agony  of  soul, 

Oh!  she  mourned  in  anguish  there; 
While  myriad  hearts  rejoiced  in  mirth, 
Her's  withered  in  wild  despair. 
As  hast'riing  by, 
The  moments  fly, 
And  joined  the  shrouded  past; 
Oh!  yet  seeming, 
As  but  dreaming, 
Lo!  the  angel  spirit  past. 


THE  SUICIDE. 

The  cypress-like  guardian  spirits  wave, 
O'er  the  silent  turf  of  a  lowly  grave; 
There  bright  birds  of  summer  sweetly  sing, 
There  violet  and  primrose  together  spring, 
Yet  no  tablet  stands  forth  in  boasting  fame, 
No  record  is  there  of  a  cherish'd  name; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  177 

But  the  sunbeams  like  warning  spectres  glide 
O'er  the  grave  of  a  hapless  suicide. 

Oh!  sad  was  the  lot  of  the  orphan  girl, 

'Mid  the  hurried  crowd,  life's  busy  whirl, 

And  oft  would  she  think  of  her  early  days, 

As  they  gather  d  around  the  social  blaze, 

In  her  childhood's  home,  where  a  mother  smil'd 

On  the  happy  sports  of  her  gentle  child; 

Then  pause  !  nor  with  mocking  words  deride 

The  name  of  a  hapless  suicide. 

Oh!  that  cottage  home  is  desolate  now, 
Though  the  leaflet  blooms  on  the  shading  bough; 
Hush'cl,  hushed  is  the  laughing  voice  of  mirth 
That  once  sounded  around  that  joyous  hearth; 
The  parent  that  nightly  her  child  had  blest, 
In  the  old  church-yard  is  now  at  rest . 

But  she — oh !  a  doating  mother's  pride — 

Hath  fill'd  the  grave  of  a  suicide. 

Death  hovered  there  with  his  icy  hand, 
And  sever'd  the  chain  of  the  household  band, 
Oh!  one  by  one  hath  each  form  departed, 
Like  the  autumn  leaves,  till,  broken   hearted, 
She,  alone  desolate,  was  left  of  all 
That  had  gather'd  within  the  cottage  hall; 

Then  'twere  better  she  too  had  died, 

Nor  fill'd  the  grave  of  a  suicide. 


178  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Have  ye  never  mark'd  'mid  the  stormy  cloud, 
How  one  star  may  gaze  thro'  its  ebon  shroud, 
Like  a  lonely  heart;  how  to  earth  may  cling 
A  timid  flower  that  still  breathes  of  spring. 
While  the  wintry  winds  sweep  harshly  on? 
Oh!  thus  she  drooped,  like  a  leaflet  torn 

From  the  parent  stem,  with  a  heart  so  tried, 

Alone  was  the  hapless  suicide. 

Mark  where  the  sensitive  London  lies, 

There  many  a  tear  from  kindliest  eyes 

May  oft  hallow  the  silent  bed  of  earth — 

There  many  a  flower  may  wake  to  birth — 

There  pitying  Angels  may  ceaseless  weep, 

And  their  Vigils  through  crowded  years  may  keep, 

As  fame  bears  on,  on  her  glowing  tide, 

The  name  of  a  hapless  suicide. 

Oh!  ye  of  the  glad  and  the  joyous  heart, 
How  little  ye  dream  of  the  bitter  part 
That  many  a  mortal  is  doomed  to  here — 
Of  the  sorrowing  hours,  the  scalding  tear 
That  often  hath  wet  the  pillow  nightly; 
Then  bethink,  nor  even  speak  thou  lightly, 

Nor  scorn  the  turf  that  doth  meekly  hide, 

The  form  of  a  hapless  suicide. 


179 


SONG. 

Oh!  give  me  the  night, 
When  the  stars  are  bright, 

And  the  breeze  sweeps  gently  by; 
When  the  ripples  now, 
With  sparkle  and  glow, 

Beneath  the  beaming  sky. 

And  away  I'll  roam, 
O'er  the  dashing  foam, 

With  Ella  by  my  side. 
While  flashes  the  stream 
'Neath  the  moonlight's  gleam, 

I'll  wrin  my  bonnie  bride. 

And  away  we'll  glide, 
O'er  the  curling  tide, 

While  skies  are  glowing  bright. 
Oh!  for  love's  sweet  art, 
To  enchant  the  heart, 

Give  me  the  starry  night. 


180  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


LEAKN    TO   BEAK. 

Learn,  learn  to  bear, 
Thy  meed  of  care, 

The  hope  of  joy  retaining, 
Though  woe  and  strife 
May  cloud  thy  life, 

Still  bear  Avithout  complaining. 

Ne'er  turn  from  earth, 
Nor  quell  thy  mirth, 

Though  heart  from  heart  may  sever, 
'Tis  vain  to  sigh, 
When  broke  the  tie, 

Though  loos'd  the  bond  forever. 

Though  word  and  smile, 
May  prove  but  guile, 

So  ends  our  blissful  dreamings — 
They  wither  all — 
And  fade  and  fall, 

E'en  as  the  meteor  gieamings. 

Though  griefs  are  thine, 
And  thorns  may  twine, 

Amid  hope's  fairest  roses, 
Though  earth  may  cloy, 
From  care  and  joy 

Life's  bubbling  draught  composes. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  181 

Though  fierce  the  might, 
Of  sorrow's  blight, 

Learn!  'tis  our  mortal  doom, 
That  each  should  share, 
His  world  of  care, 

'Ere  shuts  the  gaping  tomb. 

Still  meet  thy  part, 
With  cheerful  heart — 

Nor  pine  in  hapless  sadness — 
Some  ray  may  gleam, 
To  gild  life's  stream, 

And  wake  thy  sonl  to  gladness. 


12 


FRIENDSHIP'S  OFFERING. 

Friendship  as  pure  as  holy  tie, 
As  e'er  linked  heart  to  heart, 

With  us  ne'er  let  an  earthly  ill, 
E'er  rends  its  bonds  apart. 

A  friend  indeed  'mid  grief  or  joy 
Let  each  be  to  the  other, 

Bound  by  the  kindly  gentle  tie, 
Of  sister,  and  of  brother. 


182  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  when  long  years  have  passed  away, 

How  oft  will  mem'ry  fly, 
Back  to  the  hours  together  spent, 

That  now  are  rolling  by. 

Still  let  sweet  friendship  round  our  hearts,. 

Her  holy  influence  twine, 
Heav'n  guide  you  is  the  honest  wish, 

My  heart  would  speak  to  thine. 


A  SUMMER  SHOWER. 

A  song  for  the  rain  that  sparkles  and  flashes, 

That  gushes,  and  foams,  and  dances  and  dashes; 

How  grateful  it  falls  on  the  withering  flow'rs, 

As  down  like  a  torrent  of  jewels  it  show'rs: 

While  the  little  bird  peeps  from  its  covert  of  leaves 

And  the  glad  swallow  nods  in  the  old  cottage  eaves, 

Still  whirling,  and  quivering  over  and  o'er, 

In  Elfin  like  dance  the  starry  drops  pour; 

While  Iris  is  flinging  athwart  the  dim  skies, 

Her  mystical  wreathing  of  radiant  dyes. 

Though  with  it  there  oft  o'er  the  mind  steals  a  sadness 

'Tis  a  blessing  to  all,  a  token  of  gladness; 

Ev'ry  heart  in  the  land  should  greet  it  with  pleasure, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  183 

Each  sparkle  a  gem — each  bubble  a  treasure, 
Now  glancing  to  earth— and  now  lost  in  the  seas, 
As  they  carrol,  and  laugh,  and  shout  with  the  breeze, 
While  sporting,  cascading  down  the  green  hills, 
In  miniature  falls — pour  the  shivering  rills; 
And  the  field,  and  the  lawn,  late  parched  with  heat, 
All  glitter  and  flash,  as  they  smilingly  greet 
The  sunbeams  that  peep  thro'  the  mist  that  enshrouds 
Now  darting  and  gleaming — now  hid  in  the  clouds: 
Ah!  many  will  welcome  the  soft  summer  rain, 
3  Tis  a  beacon  of  hope  to  the  harvesting  swain, 
A  guerdon  for  toil,  and  he  blesses  his  God, 
As  the  glistening  currents  pour  down  on  the  sod; 
For  with  it  soon  passes  all  boding  of  dearth, 
And  Ceres  is  waving  her  sceptre  o'er  earth. 


FAIR  THE  BLOSSOMS  JOY  IS  WEEATHING 

Fair  the  blossoms  joy  is  wreathing, 

'Hound  the  hoping,  trusting  heart, 
Where  no  leprous  care  is  breathing, 

To  rend  the  rainbow  hues  apart; 
But  fancies  dim,  like  visioned  glories, 

That  cheer  the  soul  by  grief  untried, 
To  the  mind  like  fabled  stories, 

.Return  when  rolling  years  have  died, 
By  mem'ry  lighted. 


184  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Bright  they  come,  as  in  youth's  blooming, 

The  loved— the  lost— the  changed— the  dead. 
But  a  strange,  unearthly  glooming 

O'er  each  phantom  memory's  shed. 
Ah  !  all— yes,  all  that  gleamed  so  bright 

Upon  the  soul  in  happier  hours, 
Come  back,  as  on  a  winter's  night, 

The  moonlight  glittering  splendor  showers 
O'er  earth  so  blighted. 

The  fondly  loved,  the  wildly  cherished — 

They  who,  chilled  in  death,  are  sleeping, 
That  in  youth's  holy  time  have  perished— 

Still  the  heart  their  beauty  keeping, 
Lips  that  in  such  truthful  seeming 

Vows  of  love  so  fond  have  spoken; 
Ah  !  little  dreamt  ye,  in  hopes  dreaming, 

Those  vows  should  all  be  wrecked  and  broken, 
Earth's  fearful  waking. 

Bitter  lessons  life  is  teaching, 

To  blast  the  heart  and  sear  the  brain, 
Soon  the  cheek  and  lip  are  bleaching, 

Where  sorrow  holds  her  cheerless  reign; 
Dream  ye  not,  amid  youth's  gladness, 

All  the  ills  that  may  beset, 
How  the  heart  may  pine  in  sadness, 

O'er  the  joys  ye  can't  forget, 

In  anguish  breaking. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  185 


THE  BEGGAK. 

With  meagre  face,  and  sunken  eye, 

And  look  so'  sad  and  worn; 
She  wanders  through  the  busy  street, 

Till  eve,  from  early  morn. 

And  stopping  at  the  rich  man's  door, 

She  begs  a  crust  of  bread ; 
Then  turns  toward  her  wretched  home, 

In  trembling  fear  and  dread. 

The  poor  child  pleads  for  charity, 

As  slow  she  wanders  on; 
In  hungry,  hollow  voice  she  pleads, 

And  meets  but  look  of  scorn. 

And  ye  among  the  heartless  crowd, 
How  can  your  hearts  rejoice — 

And  still  refuse  the  pittance  small, 
Begg'd  in  suppliant  voice  ? 

Thus  born  in  poverty  and  want, 
And  bred  'mid  crime  and  shame — 

Till  she  has  learned  in  very  hate, 
To  fear  the  rich  man's  name. 


186  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Oh!  turn  thy  weary  heart  from  earth, 

This  region  of  unrest; 
There  is  a  brighter  home  for  thee — 

A  kingdom  with  the  blest. 

Like  the  summer's  breath, 

Or  the  closing  day. 
Sweet  spirit  of  earth, 

Thou  hast  passed  away. 


TO  MAKY. 

'Twas  but  a  dream  of  happiness . 

That  faded  with  the  past  — 
A  vision — Oh  !  too  beautiful, 

Too  heavenly  to  last. 

And  thou  wert  by  my  side,  my  love, 
With  thy  sweet,  winning  smile, 

Which  could  so  oft  in  sorrow's  hour, 
My  weary  heart  beguile. 

Where  art  thou  now,  Oh  !  lovely  one  ? 

For  hope  and  joy  hath  flown; 
Thou'rt  cold,  and  still,  nor  hear'st  my  voice, 

Thou'rt  gone,  gone  from  thine  own. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  187 


Thou  wert  too  beautiful  for  earth, 
Too  pure  for  earthly  love; 

A  spirit  bright  of  holiness, 
Call'd  to  its  home  above. 


THE  BROKEN  VOW. 

'Twas  the  evening  chime—  'twas  the  trysting  hour, 

And  Adela  sat  in  her  vine  wrapt  bow'r, 

Her  heart  throbbed  high  as  she  listened  in  vain, 

For  the  step  that  never  might  come  again; 

For  the  knight  was  false  to  his  lady  fair, 

Though  he'd  vowed  by  the  braids  of  her  glossy  hair; 

'Ere  the  dew  should  fall  on  the  sleeping  flow'r, 

He'd  seek  her  again  in  her  elfin  bower. 

While  she  lists,  lo  !  the  trembling  leaves  are  stirr'd, 

It  is  but  the  flight  of  a  restless  bird; 

Thro'  the  grim  twilight  its  fleet  course  winging, 

The  woods  with  its  joyful  notes  are  ringing. 

But  eve's  first  sentinel  walketh  the  sky, 

And  he  the  lov'd  Conradin,  why,  Oh  !  why 

Is  he  not  now  by  the  faithful  side 

Of  her  he  has  pledg'd  as  his  chosen  bride. 


OF  THE 

XJNIVERSITT 


188  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

'Twas  June,  the  rose  wreathed,  beauteous  June, 
And  bright  were  the  rays  of  the  summer  moon, 
And  rapid  the  flow  of  the  whimp'ring  stream, 
As  it  imaged  the  light  of  each  starry  gleam; 
But  crimson  the  hue  of  her  cheek  deep  flush'd, 
And  sad  were  the  thoughts  thro'  her  heart  that  gush'd, 
As  the  orbit  of  night  grew  faint  and  dim, 
Oh  !  in  anguish  she  wept  and  prayed  for  him. 

While  she's  bowing  the  head,  bending  the  knee, 
The  truant  lover,  where,  where  is  he  ? 
Where  the  festal  tapers  brightly  glow, 
Where  the  dancers  reel  and  the  red  wines  flow. 
'Tis  there  he  has  looked  on  a  fairer  brow, 
And  there  again  he  has  plighted  his  vow; 
And  vainly  shall  Adela  watch  and  yearn, 
For  the  step,  that  to  her  shall  ne'er  return. 


THE  POET'S  HOUES. 

When  the  god  of  storm  rends  the  summer  sky, 

And  the  rocks  re-echo  the  thunder's  crash, 
And  the  dome  is  red  with  one  glittering  flame, 

And  vivid  the  glare  of  the  lightning's  flash — 
When  on  the  blue  of  the  heavenly  sea, 

With  a  spirit-like  gloom  and  majesty, 
Floats  the  jetty  cloud,  with  an  amb^r  tinge, 

Like  a  sable  pall  with  a  golden  fringe. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  189 

Or  when  on  gilded  car  the  sun  rolls  up, 

And  zephyrs  burst  forth  from  their  crystal  cell, 
And  heaven-born  music  falls  sweet  on  the  ear 

As  the  mellow  tones  of  a  silver  bell. 
When  the  last  tint  of  day  with  its  violet  gleam, 

Sends  a  radiant  flush  on  the  land  and  stream, 
And  the  orient  sky  with  a  flood  of  light, 

Yields  to  the  shade  of  siderian  night. 

When  the  meek,  white  moon  with  her  luminous  train, 

Steals  forth  from  the  depths  of  the  trembling  sea, 
And  the  topaz  gleam  from  each  glorious  star 

Sends  a  wavy  hue  o'er  the  canopy; 
When  the  dewy  tears  fall  in  pearly  showers, 

On  the  glowing  breast  of  the  sleeping  flowers, 
And  the  mermaids  corne  from  their  coral  caves 

To  sport  with  the  beams  on  the  glancing  waves. 

When  the  seraphs  are  chanting  their  evening  hymn, 

And  fays  dance  out  from  each  flowret's  cell. 
And  the  fire-fly  spreading  his  gauzy  wing, 

Darts  forth  from  the  depths  of  the  shadowy  dell; 
When  the  humming  bird  rests  in  sweet  repose, 

'Mid  the  velvet  leaves  of  the  crimson  rose, 
And  the  butterfly  sporting  the  rainbow's  hue 

Flits  light  o'er  the  bell  of  the  violet's  blue. 

When  the  nightingale  wakens  his  mournful  song 
That  swells  from  the  earth  to  the  skies  above, 


190  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  the  scented  air  on  its  ambient  wing, 
Wafts  back  the  sigh  of  the  sorrowing  dove ; 

Oh  !  these  are  the  hours,  when  the  poet's  soul 

Bursts  free  from  the  chain  of  earth's  dark  control, 

On  pinions  of  fancy  from  regions  of  night, 
Soars  'mid  the  gleams  of  a  heaven-born  light. 


WELCOME  TO  THE  NEW  YEAH. 

The  winter's  swift  passing  away, 

We'll  greet 'with  glad  hearts  merry  spring; 
How  soon  it  too  from  us  will  stray, 

On  time's  pitiless  shadowy  wing. 

All  greet  the  new  year  with  a  smile, 
With  pleasure  forsake  the  old  friend, 

Feel  happy  with  her  for  awhile, 

As  with  hope  to  the  future  they  bend. 

But  ever  in  mem'ry  thou'lt  dwell, 

With  things  that  have  withered  and  gone, 

For  nought  in  this  world  can  dispel 
The  remembrance  of  happiness  flown. 

Then  away  to  the  things  that  are  past, 
In  my  heart  thou  art  traced  with  a  tear. 

I  turn  from  thee,  faded  at  last, 
To  welcome  the  happy  new  year. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  191 


THE  DESERTED  HOUSE. 

'Tis  midnight;  on  the  ruin  brown 
The  cold,  round  moon  shines  deeply  down; 
The  waves  on  either  shore  lay  there 
Calm,  clear  and  azure  as  the  air. — Byron. 

With  tears  look  on  that  wreck  of  pride, 

That  long  deserted  home; 
The  glad  heart's  music  there  hath  died, 

For  sorrow's  blight  hath  come. 

The  flower  of  hope  there  wither 'd  lies, 

From  Autumn's  chilling  blight, 
There  burning  tears  have  dimm'd  bright  eyes, 

And  day  hath  turned  to  night. 

W'ithin  that  old  ancestral  wall, 
Love's  voice  was  wont  to  sound. 

But  it  hath  ceas'd  and  sorrow's  thrall, 
Hath  cast  the  spell  around. 

There  smiles  and  tears,  the  bridal  wreath, 
A  deepening  spell  have  wreath 'd, 

There  hearts  that  now  lay  cold  in  death, 
'Mid  hope  and  joy  have  breath'd. 

There  bright  birds  chant  their  sweetest  lay, 

And  gently  flows  the  stream; 
There  stars  still  shine,  and  moonbeams  play, 

But  dim  and  chang'd  they  seem . 


192  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

The  bat,  and  owl,  their  vigils  hold, 
There  toad,  and  snail,  are  creeping, 

The  gloomy  walls  are  damp  and  cold, 
As  o'er  the  ruin  weeping. 


SONG. 

My  Bella  Donna,  smile  again, 

Oh  !  what  sad  thought,  my  love,  hast  thou, 
When  it  can  wake  that  bosom's  pain  ? 

What  grief  should  cloud  that  lovely  brow? 

My  Bella  Donna,  smile  still  bright, 
Mark  ye  not  the  sunny  gleaming, 

And  each  clear  orb  that  decks  the  night — 
Joy  in  ev'ry  ray  is  beaming 

My  Bella  Donna,  smile  once  more, 
Let  thy  soul  in  joy  be  bounding; 

See  each  glad  wave  that  clasps  the  shore — 
Joy  in  ev'ry  ripple  sounding. 

My  Bella  Donna,  smile,  still  smile, 

Nor  let  thy  heart  ere  droop  in  sadness; 

Oh  !  wear  a  mirthful  look  the  while — 
WTakeonce  more  to  joy  and  gladness. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  193 


ENIGMA. 

It  speaks  forth  in  the  tempest, 

And  in  the  ocean's  roar; 
And  in  the  tinniest  ripple^ 

That  gushes  on  the  shore. 
It  speaks  forth  from  the  mountain. 

From  valley,  and  from  hill, 
In  rushing  of  the  streamlet, 

In  sobbing  of  the  rill. 
'Tis  shouted  by  the  thunders, 

And  warbled  by  the  wind; 
Mind  owns  it  to  the  bosom, 

And  bosom  to  the  mind; 
In  ev'ry  bird  that  sirigeth, 

In  ev'ry  tree  and  flower, 
In  ev'ry  bud  that  opeth, 

Ye  mark  the  mystic  pow'r . 

The  minstrelsy  of  waters, 

And  zephyrs'  whispered  tone 
In  sweet  accordance  blending, 

The  might  and  mystery  own; 
From  dawning  of  creation, 

From  torrid  to  the  poles, 
In  every  beam  that  shineth, 

In  every  sphere  that  rolls; 


194  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

In  rosy  face  of  childhood, 
And  hoary  locks  of  age; 

Solve  my  riddle — ye  who  can, 
Philosopher  or  sage. 


MY  BONNIE  STREAM. 

Flow  on,  flow  on,  niy  bonnie  stream, 

Along  thy  bank  of  flow'rs; 
The  bank  where  I  was  wont  to  dream, 
In  childhood's  happier  hours. 

Flow  on,  flow  on  and  brightly  glow, 

All  joyously  and  free; 
Still  let  thy  sparkling  waters  flow, 

And  mingle  with  the  sea. 

Flow  on,  flow  on,  each  shining  wave, 
Still  let  them  curl  and  roll; 

How   blest  for  me  they  cannot  lave, 
Glad  memories  from  my  soul. 

Flow  on,  flow  on,  with  wanton  glee, 
Ere  earth  again  may  bloom, 

The  eyes  that  loved  to  look  on  thee, 
May  slumber  in  the  tomb. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  195 

Flow  on,  flow  on,  my  boniiie  stream, 

And  kiss  my  natal  shore; 
By  thee  the  exile  may  not  dream, 

May  never  wander  more. 


SPUING. 

Oh  !  rejoice,  rejoice,  for  spring  is  here, 
With  her  sunny  beams  and  show'rs, 

And  the  wild  birds  trill  from  the  woods  again, 
And  earth  is  wreathed  in  flow'rs. 

Oh  !  rejoice  as  thy  frosty  monarch  speeds, 

And  the  rosy  spring  has  birth. 
No  longer  the  child  of  poverty  sits 

By  a  chill  and  desolate  hearth. 

The  daisy  and  primrose  burst  to  life, 
'Neath  the  day -god's  lustrous  gleams; 

And  the  rills  dance  down  from  the  rocky  hills, 
And  leap  in  the  flashing  streams. 

While  the  butterfly  floats  on  its  gaudy  wings, 

In  the  sparkling  light  of  day. 
Oh  !  we'll  merrily  twine  our  flow'ry  wreath, 

And  crown  the  queen  of  the  May. 


196  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

The  violet  fair  and  the  budding  rose, 
Well  pluck  from  their  shining  stems, 

And  twine  for  the  lovliest  maiden's  brow, 
A  chaplet  of  nature's  gems. 

Then  rejoice,  rejoice,  for  the  spring  is  here, 
With  her  sunny  beams  and  show'rs, 

And  the  wild  birds  trill  from  the  woods  again, 
And  the  earth  is  wreath Jd  in  flow'rs. 


HOME  AFFECTION. 

Home  affection — home  affection, 

High  and  holy  dower^ 
Ne'er  meet  we  in  thy  protection, 

A  fading  passion  flower; 
Ever  kind  in  true  devotion 

Is  thy  hallow'd  breathing, 
With  thy  ev'ry  sweet  emotion 

ANGEL  TRUTH  is  wreathing. 

Words  of  trust  and  fond  believing, 

Are  ever  echoed  there; 
Comes  no  worldly  heart's  deceiving, 

To  fill  the  soul  with  care. 
DEATH  ALONE,  with  mournful  rending, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  197 

May  dim  the  smile  of  beauty; 
While  hope  and  love  in  truthful  blending, 
Cheer  the  soul  to  duty. 

Let  us  aye  on  thee  relying, 

Cherish  the  pure  feeling; 
Where  heart  to  heart  in  faith  replying, 

Speak  the  soul's  revealing. 
As  in  her  full  translucent  light, 

Breaks  forth  the  cloudless  day, 
So  free  from  ill  and  sorrow's  blight, 

Beam  on  mine  earthly  way. 

No  trinket  thou  of  priceless  seeming, 

To  decorate  the  heart; 
To  gleam  awhile  in  fancy's  dreaming, 

And  tracelessly  depart. 
But  true,  and  changeless  in  thy  flow, 

"Exhaustless  fount  of  love;" 
Pure  as  the  faith  that  Seraphs  know 

In  that  bright  realm  above. 

Blest  unity  of  heart  and  mind, 

Where  sounds  the  parent's  blessing, 

Where  met  by  brothers'  accents  kind; 
Sisters  fond  caressing. 

Though  earthly  griefs  may  oft  annoy, 
'Neathits  sweet  protection, 

What  words  may  speak  the  tranquil  joy, 

The  BLISS  OF    HOME    AFFECTION. 

13 


198  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


THE  MAIDEN'S  QUERY. 

I  wonder  if  there's  a  kindred  heart  for  mine, 

Or  if  la  matchless  lassie  must  be, 
The  vine  round  the  oak  doth  so  trustingly  twine, 
But  each  star  doth  in  lonely  glory  shine, 
Which  fate  now  1  wonder  doth  image  mine  ? 
The  star,  or  the  vine,  I  would  like  to  know, 

Yet  may  I  not  into  the  future  glance. 
See  !   the  moon  in  nun-like  beauty  doth  glow, 

E'en  the  sun,  like  a  bachelor  elf,  doth  dance 
On  through  the  heaven's  in  kingly  pride, 

So  I,  solitary  perhaps,  may  stray, 
Like  a  hermit  sailing  o'er  life's  swift  tide; 

O'er  perhaps  my  mate,  e'en  now  he  may 

Be  looking  for  me — will  he  come  this  way, 
Or  turn  the  wrong  corner  by  sad  mistake  ? 

A  luckless  wight  ever  hunting  for  me , 
Who  could  only  of  course  his  helpmeet  make; 

And  yet  in  the  distance  left  far  behind, 
While  coming  and  going  like  the  restless  wind, 

Vain  suitors  would  win  my  heart  from  me; 
Ah  !  if  he'd  only  think  to  turn  him  back. 

Or  wait  a  wee  while  till  I  gain  his  side, 
He  never  a  kindred  spirit  would  lack, 

Until  death  our  mortal  hearts  should  divide; 
But  perchance  I  alone  may  my  fate  fulfill, 

Contented  am  I,  be  it  good  or  ill. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  199 

BOUSE,  MOETALS,  HOUSE! 

Rouse,  mortals,  rouse! 

Nor  pine  o'er  earthly  woes — 
Grasp  strength  to  bear, 

No  matter  what  thy  doom. 
See  'mid  grief's  clouds 

One  burning  star  still  glows, 
One  quiv'ring  spark, 

That  lights  beyond  the  tomb. 
'Tis  Faith's  clear  beacon, 

And  to  the  mourning  heart, 
Like  Angel  nymph, 

Behold  her  spirit  nears, 
Bidding  griefs  shades, 

Like  spectral  fiends  depart, 
While  glowing  bright, 

Lo!  form'd  of  sorrow's  tears, 
In  fancy's  realm, 

Hope's  glitt'ring  bow  appears. 

Then,  mortals,  rouse! 

Nor  feebly  e'er  repine; 
Still  trust  in  heav'n, 

'Mid  life's  deceitful  glare, 
Oh!  hope,  content, 

May  yet  again  be  thine, 
Tho'  hearts  prove  false, 


200  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Ah !  why  in  frail  despair 
Or  anguish  bow  ? 

Nay,  cast  this  thrall  aside, 
Grief's  wearing  bends, 

Nor  e'er  let  sorrow  cling, 
Like  phantom  to  thee, 

E'en  tho'  deceiv'd,  belied, 
By  trusted  lips, 

Still  cheerful  bear  the  sting, 
Affection's  change, 

And  earth's  deceptions  bring. 


SONG. 

Thou  call'st  it  love,  when  phantom  like, 

Some  form  is  near  thee  seeming; 
Thou  call'st  it  love,  when  one  soft  voice, 

Aye  thrills  through  fancy's  dreaming; 
Thou  call'st  it  love,  and  such  thou  say'st, 

Thy  heart  e'er  feels  for  me ; 
Thou  call'st  it  love — if  it  be  so, 

I  fear  that  I  love  thee. 

Thou  call'st  it  love,  when  in  the  heart 

One  image  e'er  is  shining; 
Thou  call'st  it  love,  to  meet  with  joy, 

To  part  with  sad  repining; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  201 

Thou  call'st  it  love,  and  such  thou  say'st 

Thy  heart  e'er  feels  for  me  ! 
Thou  call'st  it  love — if  it  be  so, 

I  know  that  I  love  thee. 


MUSIC. 

The  raven  night,  flapping  her  starry  pinions, 
Scatters  the  diamond  dews  upon  the  air, 

That,  falling,  each  its  tiny  sparkle  flings, 

Mimicking  heaven's  dazzling  hosts  that  cluster  there. 

In  silent  glory,  no  breath  is  heard,  save 

The  voice  of  sobbing  waters  tossing  wearily, 

Filling  my  soul,  euphonious  sound,  with  thee. 

Music,  high  gift  of  heaven  ! 

For  surely  thou  had'st  birth 
Amid  Elysian  bowers, 

And  but  wandered  to  this  earth, 
To  render  us  less  mortal, 

And  fit  us  for  that  dwelling 
Where  from  seraphic  harps 

Thy  grandest  notes  are  swelling. 

Alike  in  palace  and  in  cottage  home 

Awake  the  soundings  of  thy  mystic  voice; 


202  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Now  from  the  minstrel's  lips  the  accents  come, 

Bidding  the  heart  to  sorrow  or  rejoice; 
And  now  thou'rt  ringing  through  the  festive  halls, 

Tuning  the  harp  in  high  victorious  strain; 
Till  on  the  ear  the  dying  whispers  fall, 

Bousing  sweet  fancies  in  the  dreamy  brain. 

And  to  the  mariner,  far  from  kin  and  friend, 

With  starry  skies,  the  lisping  of  the  sea, 
With  the  sad  tellings  of  his  heartbeats  blend, 

Striking  the  chimes  of  restless  memory; 
Till  the  deep  caverns  of  his  soul  are  stirred, 

With  magic  echoes  of  soft  minstrelsy; 
Bringing  again,  the  last,  the  parting  word, 

And  she,  the  day-star  of  his  destiny. 

Hark  !  through  the  arching  of  cathedral  aisles, 

The  organ  tones  in  solemn  plaint  are  stealing; 
Sweeping  o'er  the  unconscious  soul  the  while, 

Stirring  the  fountain  of  long  buried  feeling, 
And  to  the  guilty  heart  thy  soft  breath  floats, 

Crimsoning  the  cheek  with  the  deep  flush  of  shame; 
Now  through  the  phalanx  pour  the  clarion  notes, 

Urging  the  soldier's  heart  to  deeds  of  fame. 

And  through  the  mourner's  breast  the  loud  bursts  thrill, 
Stilling  the  wailings  of  grief's  doleful  swell; 

Like  the  blithe  trilling  of  a  laughing  rill, 
Cheering  the  silence  of  sequestered  dell; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  203 

And  Jo  !  from  childhood's  lips  the  voice  of  song- 
Soars  up,  a  guiltless  offering — and  'tis  to  them, 

On,  peerless  heaven,  thy  purest  gifts  belong, 
While  yet  the  soul  is  spotless  as  the  gem  ! 

All  earth  is  musical, 

Doth  not  tiniest  insect  pour 
Its  mite  of  melody  ? 

Doth  not  the  re-echoing  shore 
Reply  to  ocean  ? 

Are  not  the  wavelets  bounding 
With  tinkling  symphonies, 

Harmonious  sounding  ? 
While  in  their  beamy  depths 

The  rosy  shells  are  blending 
Mellifluous  warbling, 

And  through  the  waters  sending 
Rich  strains  of  concord, 

In  low  murmurs  ringing, 
As  if  the  Naiads 

In  sweet  tone  swere  singing. 

What  though  Orpheus'  lyre  be  mute, 

Still  doth  its  echoes  chime, 
Throughout  all  space — and  but  shall  cease 

With  the  last  knell  of  time. 

In  nature's  many-toned  voice 
Are  thy  mystic  revealings; 


204  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

In  the  tempest's  sad  moan, 

In  the  thunder's  loud  pealings. 

The  rill  and  the  rivulet  chorus  are  keeping, 
The  fountain  and  cataract  dashing  and  leaping, 

With  the  breath  of  the  shower,  and  summer  bird's  song, 
Joins  the  lay  of  the  breeze  as  he  jostles  along. 

Where  as  the  morn  unseals  her  roseate  lids, 

Her  sparkling  glances  flush  the  sleepy  air 
With  mellowing  dyes,  while  Luna  and  her  train 

Sink  back  abashed  beneath  the  ruddy  glare, 
Where  Sol,  on  his  flaming  chariot,  leaping, 

Rolls  o'er  the  sky  that  late  in  clouds  bedight 
Of  sable  hue,  now  drink  his  fiery  breathings, 

Making  the  air  one  sea  of  blazing  light. 

Where  wreathes  all  lovliness; 

Where  the  brightest  flowers 
Perfume  the  air,  and  earth 

Seems  like  to  heaven,  where  the  hours 
Pass  like  unnoted  visions; 

And  the  light  zephyrs  rove 
Like  ariel  min'sters  breathing 

Divinity  and  love. 

Where  thou  hast  triumphed  in  the  Isle  of  Song, 

Italia!  inspiring  bride  of  art,  the  wand 
Of  beauty,  exulting,  waves  o'er  thee 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  205 

Earth's  paradise,  lovely,  gifted  land  ! 
There  the  famous  nine  their  temples  reared, 

There  sculptor  formed  with  life-like  seeming 
The  senseless  marble,  as  with  genius5  touch, 

There  the  dull  canvass  became  gleaming 
With  lovliness;    there  from  Parnassus 

Sweet  poesy  her  rainbow  wings  unfurled, 
And  muses'  lispings  echoed  to  the  world. 

Ethereal  tide  !  cradled 

And  springing  with  creation, 
First  seraphs  quaffed,  then  poured  thee 

To  earth — a  rich  libation  ! 
Angels  have  cherished  thee;  and  mortals  now 

To  thee,  sweet  minstrelsy,  in  homage  bow. 


AFFECTIONS'  OFFERING. 

Belov'd  ones,  throbs  each  bosom  still, 
With  home  affections  holy  thrill, 
The  Mother's  kindly  word  and  smile, 
Like  sunbeams  to  the  heart  the  while, 
Return  they  yet — as  beacon  bright, 
That  gleams  unchanging  thro'  the  night, 
Glad'ning  the  traveller  on  his  way 
With  hopes  of  the  returning  day? 


206  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Oh!  let  her  warnings  in  each  breast, 

Like  guiding  angels  sleepless  rest, 

And  point  thy  steps  aright  in  life, 

Free  from  the  cank'ring  boist'rous  strife 

Of  wordly  living — free  from  woes, 

That  sorrow  in  our  pathway  throws 

To  try  the  heart — still,  still  look  back, 

Across  life's  bright  or  clouded  track, 

To  her  devotion — let  it  be 

The  guiding  star  of  destiny. 

Let  mem'ry  aye  with  fondness  trace, 

Her  treasur'd  form,  her  gentle  face, 

The  Mother's  love,  unswerving,  true, 

Refreshing  as  the  early  dew, 

Conies  to  the  flow'rs  when  parch'd  with  heat, 

The  Father's  precept  let  them  meet, 

Within  each  soul  a  haven  sure, 

When  Satan  would  the  young  heart  lure 

By  wily  arts — if  sorrow's  storm 

Beat  o'er  your  heads,  oh  true,  and  warm, 

Let  home  affection  be  the  guide, 

'Mid  ev'ry  change  whate'er  betide. 

Ah!  dear  ones  we  shall  treasure  e'er, 

Each  look  and  word  forever  dear, 

The  merry  laugh,  the  jesting  mirth, 

That  once  made  glad  the  social  hearth. 

Each,  each  a  burning  gem  shall  be, 

To  gleam  in  mem'ry's  treasury. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  207 

Hope  sings  for  ye  her  sweetest  lays, 

And  Fancy  paints  the  future  days 

In  glitt'ring  hues,  all,  all  so  bright, 

The  coming  years  to  visions  sight, 

But  know  ye  not,  Hope  falsely  sings, 

And  mind  ye  too  the  elf  hath  wings, 

And  fancy  cheating  are  her  beams, 

As  Will-o'-wisps  deluding  gleams; 

Yet  nurse  her  for  without  her  light, 

Oh!  life  would  seem  eternal  night, 

And  though  Hope  lead  the  heart  astray, 

Yet  flings  she  glory  on  the  way, 

That  else  had  been  so  sadly  drear, 

Her  ditties  well  the  spirit  cheer. 

In  duty's  path,  then  let  her  now, 

Her  rose  wreath  twine  round  heart  and  brow; 

While  youth  is  there  live  on  in  hope, 

Nor  'mid  life's  ills  despairing  grope, 

She  bids  thee  look  to  Him  above, 

In  trusting  confidence  and  love. 

A  world  is  spread  before  youth's  gaze, 

Where  Folly  tempting  oft  betrays, 

Where  vice  a  robe  of  beauty  wears, 

To  trap  the  soul  in  her  foul  snares, 

And  virtues  garb  may  oft  disguise, 

Awhile  her  grim  deformities; 

But  first  companions  of  your  youth, 

Be  Virtue's  self,  and  sinless  Truth, 


208  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Let  Mercy  every  action  guide, 
With  Charity  each  heart  divide, 
Let  Malice  and  her  demon  train, 
No  record  of  existence  stain; 
But  Faith  her  banner  widely  spread, 
And  o'er  each  path  her  sunlight  shed; 
God  bless  ye!  is  my  soul's  first  pray'r, 
And  keep  ye  in  His  holy  care. 


THEY   MET   AND    PARTED. 

They  met  and  parted,  as  many  oft  have  met, 

To  meet  with  smiles,  to  part  with  strange  regret; 

No  treasur'd  tone  in  either  mind  may  dwell, 

In  neither  heart  hath  friendship  wreath'd  her  spell; 

Each  by  the  other  must  forgotten  be, 

Or  e'en  if  either  live  in  memory, 

'Twill  pass  unheeded,  but  a  careless  thought, 

Not  the  bright  weavings  by  love's  angel  wrought. 

Different  the  fates  that  rule  their  ways  in  lif ^ — 
Both  may  be  joyous  or  with  sorrow  rife; 
His  perhaps  varied  as  the  changeful  gleam 
Of  Autumn  twilight, — hers  the  thoughtful  beam 
That  moonlight  sheds.     Yet,  yet  I  may  riot  tell 
Or  question  of  futurity — dissolv'd  the  spell 
That  ne'er  on  earth  shall  re-united  be, 
Nor  yet  be  linked  beyond  eternity. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  209 


TIDE  OF  TIME. 

Lo!  the  tide  of  time  is  gushing 

Onward  to  the  eternal  shore, 
Wave  on  wave  is  swiftly  rushing, 
Clouds  o'er  shade  and  sunbeams  glossing, 
Ev'ry  ripple's  hurried  tossing, 

Bearing  each  its  mig'hty  store. 

See!  that  tiny  bark  o'erladen 

With  hope's  fairest,  gayest  flow'rs; 

Bears  it,  too,  a  lovely  maiden  ? 

But  reckless  folly  guides  the  helm; 

Soon  dark  griefs  may  overwhelm; 
A  cloud  above  the  pathway  low'rs. 

But  who  steers  on  that  shatter'd  vessel 
So  fearless  on  its  stormy  course, 

Where  contending  waters  wrestle 

'Mid  life's  every  sorrow  saving  ? 

'Tis  Faith!  her  snowy  pennant  waving, 
As  forth  she  holds  the  holy  cross. 

One  lone  being  there  is  kneeling, 
Worn  from  sorrow,  wash'd  from  sin; 

With  repentant  pray'r  appealing 

Peace  unto  her  heart  is  giv'n. 

Long  that  weary  one  has  striv'n 
The  narrow  way  to  enter  in. 


210  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

But  mark  upon  the  broadest  ocean 
One  shallop  tosses  to  and  fro. 

Mov'd  by  ev'ry  wavelet's  motion; 

Intemperance  hand  in  hand  with  crime, 

In  revel  wastes  God's  precious  time, 
'Till  all  too  late  with  death  they  sue. 

Yet  watching  angels  strive  so  sadly 
The  reckless  heart  from  sin  to  stay, 

While  conscious  guiltiness  so  madly 

The  demon  tempter  nurses  ever; 

The  better  pathway  seeking  never, 
Chosing  alone  the  darken'd  way. 

There  one  haven  broad  outspreadeth, 

Where  folly  steers  her  course  with  crime; 

There  night  eternal  darkness  sheddeth; 

But  at  the  narrow  entrance  standing 

Thousand  forms  are  brightly  banding 
To  worship  him  who  guides  all  time. 


SONG. 

Come  dearest  to  yon  mountains  brow, 

And  twilight's  beauty  share, 
Where  sweetest  flow'rs  their  perfume  fling, 

Upon  the  dewy  air; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  211 

Come  love,  oh  fairest  Lady  come, 

True  as  yon  star  of  night, 
E'en  as  that  dazzling  orb  pours  down, 

On  earth  her  steady  light; 
E'en  so  in  changeless,  faithful  love, 

This  heart  would  watch  o'er  thine, 
Then  say  thou  wilt  be  mine,  dear  maid, 

Then  say  thou  wilt  be  mine. 

Speak,  Lady,  speak,  thou  know'st  the  time, 

Of  parting  hasteth  nigh, 
Give  but  one  gentle  word  my  love, 

One  look,  one  whisper'd  sigh; 
The  midnight  hour  tolls  sadly  forth, 

The  fairy  Tillage  bell, 
We  part  and  yet  thou  giv'st  no  sign, 

No  token  of  farewell; 
'Tis  sad  to  break  the  golden  links, 

Of  love's  bewitching  chain, 
And  heart  so  true  as  mine,  dear  girl, 

May  ne'er  be  thine  again. 


212  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


THE  UNKEQUITED. 

'  'Breathe  of  deep  love  —a  lonely  vigil  keeping, 
Through  the  night  hours — o'er  wasted  wealth  to  pine, 
Bich  thoughts,  and  sad,  like  faded  rose-leaves  heaping 
In  the  shut  heart — at  once  a  tomb  and  shrine." 

How  often  they  would  tog-ether  rove, 

'Neath  the  moon's  soft  light  of  a  summer  eve; 

Then  she  tried  to  check  her  girlish  love, 

In  sweet  tones  he  spake— and  but  to  deceive. 

Oh  !  time  doth  add  to  the  quenchless  flame, 
And  though  unrequited — yet  none  might  trace 

The  why,  that  whene'er  they  breathed  his  name, 
Deep  flushes  o'erspread  her  youthful  face. 

Oh  !  she  knew  the  parting  hour  was  near, 

And  it  pass'd;  bat  naught  could  e'er  break  the  spell 

His  words  were  false — yet  they  still  were  dear, 
Their  last  was  a  cold  and  careless  farewell. 

She  met  him  again — but  with  such  pride, 
Oh  !  such  scorn  as  woman  can  nobly  wear; 

The  flow'r  of  hope  in  her  heart  had  died, 
And  she  cast  it  from  her  without  a  tear. 

He  saw  her  queen  of  many  a  heart, 

And  deeply  he  rued  his  folly  the  while, 

It  pierc'd  his  soul  like  a  poison'd  dart, 

As  she  tnrn'd  from  him  with  a  haughty  smile; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  213 

And  oft  they  met  'mid  the  worldly  crowd, 

In  halls  where  the  fairest  and  brightest  move; 

Not  long  fair  Adela's  spirit  had  bowed 
'Neath  the  pangs  of  her  unrequited  love. 


IMMORTAL  LIFE. 

11  Whosoever  liceth  and  belleveth  in  me  shall  never  cZic." 

This  life  is  like  a  happy  dream, 
Tinged  with  soft  and  rosy  light; 

But  o'er  our  joys  dark  shadows  fall, 
As  day  must  yield  to  gloomy  night. 

Yet  what  will  not  earth's  creatures  bear, 
If  but  allowed  the  pow'r  of  breath  ? 

What  fearful  visions  fill  our  minds— 
What  horror,  at  the  thought  of  death  ! 

Then  search  the  tablet  of  thy  heart, 
And  meekly  bend  to  heaven's  control; 

By  penitence  and  righteous  deeds, 

Wash  out  each  stain  from  off  thy  soul. 

And  judge  not  thou  thy  fellow  man — 

No  matter  what  his  fault  may  be; 
And  turn  not  from  the  erring  one, 

Lest  heaven,  offended,  turn  from  thee. 
14 


214  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Oh  !  be  not  won  by  earth's  false  show, 
Seek,  after  death,  to  dwell  with  God; 

Turn  from  the  vanities  of  life, 

And  tread  the  path  our  Saviour  trod. 


CITY  TOILERS. 

When  twilight  is  flinging  her  mantle  gray, 
Shrouding  the  beams  of  the  golden  day, 
Then  may  ye  look  on  the  toiling  mass, 
As  the  hurrying  crowds  like  wavelets  pass; 
Mark  as  the  wearied  throngs  go  by, 
Oh  there's  many  a  lovely  lip,  and  eye, 
And  many  a  delicate  form  and  face, 
That  might  the  lordliest  palace  grace, 
But  their's  is  a  life  of  ceaseless  striving, 
While  the  few  in  pamper'd  state  are  thriving, 
'Tis  their's  to  labor,  to  struggle,  and  strive, 
But  to  keep  the  vital  spark  alive, 
The  sad  existence,  not  worth  retaining, 
Every  nerve,  and  life  cord  straining, 
But  for  the  pittance  that  barely  will  feed, 
The  beggarly  wants  of  hungry  need. 

From  morning's  light,  'till  evening's  dawn, 
Sat  a  faded  girl,  with  garments  worn, 
And  cheeks  so  wan  and  pale; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  215 

Speedily  plying  the  countless  stitches, 
Aiding  to  swell  another's  riches. 

And  what  to  her  was  that  hoarded  wealth  ? 
Wearing  out  youth,  and  bloom,  and  health, 

Still  toiling  day  and  night, 
There  by  the  taper  dismally  burning, 
A  mite  for  another's  welfare  earning-. 

O 

And  there  when  the  midnight  stars  were  glowing, 
Oh!  there  she. sat,  still  sewing,  sewing, 

Weary,  and  sick  at  heart, 
And  paler,  and  paler,  the  wan  cheeks  grew 
As  noiselessly  by  the  moments  flew. 

And  moonlight  was  pouring  its  ghastly  gleams, 
Mocking  the  shadowy  taper's  beams, 

Yet  there  the  thin  form  sat, 
Still  the  fingers  clasped  the  needle  and  thread, 
And  the  thin  form  sat — but  the  soul  had  fled. 

The  city  toilers  what  pleasure  have  they  ? 

In  wearisome  labor, 'from  day  to  day; 

Oh!  their's  alas  is  a  way  of  sorrow, 

What  joy  for  them  in  the  dawning  morrow? 

And  what  joy  for  them  in  the  sunny  light  ? 

Or  the  sparkling  beam  of  the  starry  night, 

The  flower  clad  lawn,  or  the  flashing  stream, 

Though  earth  with  a  thousand  beauties  may  teem; 


216  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Oh !  what  joy  for  them  in  the  balmy  air  ? 
Thus  born  to  wrestling  with  world  of  care, 
'Tis  seldom  that  pleasure  may  gladden  the  hours, 
For  mirth  lurketh  not  where  poverty  cowers. 

Oh!  some  from  the  light  of  their  earliest  years, 
Are  bred  to  labor,  and  strife, 

In  doleful  ignorance  plodding  along, 
Through  a  dull,  and  irksome  life; 

While  with  the  smiles  of  fate  still  blest, 

The  dronish  few  may  idly  rest. 

And  what  is  childhood  to  them,  forsooth  ? 

'Tis  sad  those  innocent  years, 
Should  wake  to  the  changeful  ways  of  earth, 

With  its  shrouding  doubts  and  fears; 
What  is  childhood  to  them,  forsooth  ? 
Little  they  know  of  the  joys  of  youth. 

When  first  morn's  roseate  lids  unclose, 

Though  some  may  wake  from  sweet  repose, 

And  hail  with  joy  the  kindling  blaze, 

That  sparkles  in  her  radiant  gaze, 

To  them  her  fairest  glance  is  bringing, 

But  the  anvils  ceaseless  ringing, 

Busy  hands  and  tireless  sound, 

As  the  hurrying  wheels  go  round, 

The  naming  forge,  and  whirling  mill, 


217 


Oh!  bliss  by  far  the  soil  to  till. 

Where  soft  contentment  wreathes  her  joys, 

And  seldom  grief  the  heart  annoys. 

Ay  the  butterfly  throngs  may  idle  the  day, 
In  sinful  slothfulness,  while  the  poor,  oh!  they, 
Must  work— work,  or  starve,  constant  employment, 
Must  still  labor,  labor,  without  enjoyment. 

Wearied  and  worn,  and  sad  of  heart, 

To  labor,  and  strive,  tis  a  hapless  part 

To  wear  out  health  for  another's  weal, 

That  seldom  one  ray  of  pity  may  feel, 

But  too  oft  on  the  toiling  throngs  look  down, 

With  a  pitiless  sneer  or  a  taunting  frown, 

Tho'  fashion  may  flaunt  in  her  senseless  pride, 

How  often  a  faded  raiment  may  hide, 

And  the  blistering  thorns  of  poverty  bind, 

A  purer  heart,  and  a  richer  mind, 

As  far  in  the  depths  of  earth's  sombre  breast, 

The  glittering  gem  may  hidden  rest, 

As  pure. and  spotless  as  an  Angel  giv'ri, 

To  sanctify  earth  with  a  ray  of  heav'n. 

By  a  sullen  light  in  a  dismal  room, 

A  wasted  form  lay  sleeping, 
And  a  woman  was  toiling  'mid  the  gloom, 

A  hapless  vigil  keeping; 


218  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  her  full  heart  heaved  with  many  a  sigh, 
As  the  winds  like  rnadden'd  fiends  danced  by, 
And  her  eyes  were  dim  with  weeping. 

And  ever  as  the  solemn  hours  went  past, 

Moment,  by  moment  flying; 
The  shorten'd  breath  came  heavy  and  fast, 

Still  sighing, — sighing, — sighing ; 
For  there  death  in  triumph  had  set  his  stamp, 
And  the  brow  with  his  frosty  dews  was  damp, 
The  faded  form  was  ctying. 

And  when  the  evening  shades  were  stealing, 
Their  ghastly  shadows  weaving, 

Still,  still  to  the  toiler's  gaze  revealing, 
The  form  yet  gently  heaving; 

Like  the  faint  swell  of  a  waveless  ocean, 

'Twas  the  ebbing  tide  of  life's  emotion, 
The  soul  earths'  fetters  leaving. 

Oh!  long,  long  ago,  she  had  breathed  the  vow, 
And  her  plighted  faith  had  giv'n;  >  •./.; 

To  the  being  who  laid  beside  her  now, 

Who  through  grief-fraught  years  bad  striven, 

How  little  she  dreamt  in  that  hour  of  joy, 

That  sorrow  would  every  hope  destroy, 
And  her  soul  e'er  thus  be  riv'n. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  219 

Still  ever  she  toiled  and  hapless  wept, 

And  her  eyes  were  dim  and  red, 
While  the  cherished  one  beside  her  slept, 

And  her  soul  was  filled  with  dread; 
But  morning'  broke  o'er  her  boding  fears. 
And  faster  and  sadder  flowed  her  tears, 
The  wasted  form  was  dead — 

Ay!  the  cheek  may  blanch,  and  the  lip  may  pale, 
And  the  heart  may  wither,  the  strength  may  fail, 
'Till  n umber 'd  at  last  with  the  peaceful  dead, 
Ah  who  will  mourn  o'er  the  being  fled  ? 
Not  mortals — no  shadow  will  cloud  our  earth, 
But  Angels  in  triumph  will  hail  its  birth, 


TIME  OF  FLOWERS. 

Thou'rt  gone,  thou  art  gone,  glad  time  of  flow'rs, 

Lost,  lost  in  eternity; 
Leaving  of  sad,  and  of  blissful  hours, 

A  checquered  memory, 

Of  griefs  and  joys. 

Thou'rt  gone  in  thy  pomp  and  splendor  by, 

Like  vision  of  love  and  truth, 
Thy  leaves  all  withered,  and  lifeless  lie, 

As  the  treasur'd  hopes  of  youth, 

Which  time  destroys 


220  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Thou'rt  gone,  as  gleams  of  the  golden  day, 
May  fade  'mid  the  storm,  and  cloud; 

As  peace  may  flee  from  our  earthly  way, 
And  fearful  sorrows  enshroud, 

The  yearning  soul. 

Though  joy  hath  gladden'd  the  heart  awhile, 
Grief  may  dim  the  future  years; 

O'er  face  that  beam'd  with  a  cheerful  smile, 
Now  the  heart  wrung  bitter  tears, 

May  hapless  roll. 

Thou  art  gone,  but  with  thee  too  hath  fled, 

Full  many  a  joyous  dream; 
Fleeting,  and  frail  as  the  rich  beam's  shed. 

By  sunlight  on  the  stream, 

So  dazzling  bright. 

Thou'rt  gone  as  the  spell  of  innocence, 
^lay  flee  from  the  human  heart, 

'Tis  sad  oh!  earth  that  so  oft  from  thence, 
Truth's  holiest  gems  depart, 

Like  fading  light. 

Thou'rt  gone  and  love  once  fondly  cherished. 

Where  the  heart  with  faith  relied; 
Like  thy  rainbow  hue  hath  chang'd,  or  perish'd, 

They,  we  dreamt  that  years  had  tried, 

The  trusted  friend. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  221 

Yet  thro'  all, — oh!  let  my  heart  still  dwell 

In  its  own  bright  world  of  thought; 
Let  not  the  falseness  of  life  dispel, 

The  visions  by  fancy  wrought, 

Let  nought  e'er  rend, 

Thou'rt  gone,  thou'rt  gone,  and  many  that  hail'd. 

With  joy  thy  radiant  birth; 
'Mid  thy  bloom  the  roseate  cheek  hath  paled, 

And  wither 'd  away  from  earth, 

Lost  for  evermore. 

To  greet  thy  smile,  in  that  deathless  sphere, 

Beyond  the  immortal  skies; 
Where  the  heart  shall  meet  all  it  e'er  lov'd  here, 

Where  truth, — beauty  never  dies, 

The  blessed  shore. 


BLUSHING, 

Loveliest  by  far  is  beauty's  cheek 
When  tinged  with  the  crimson  hue; 

The  delicate  tints  a  soul  that  speak — 
Kind,  innocent  and  true — 

A  word,  or  a  look,  may  start  the  stream 
From  heart  to  temples  rushing. 

Who  loves  not  the  modest  face  to  view, 
Suffused  in  artless  blushing! 


222  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Pure  token,  them,  of  a  sinless  breast, 

Where  kindliest  virtues  dwell, 
Where  truth  and  peace  like  angels  rest, 

And  wreathe  their  holiest  spell; 
Slight  the  emotion  that  wakes  the  tide, 

The  brow  of  candor  flushing; 
Oh,  the  gentlest  feelings  of  the  heart 

Are  told  in  artless  blushing! 

The  gem  may  add  its  lustrous  ray 

To  adorn  the  outward  part, 
But  the  changeful  hues  of  the  blush's  play 

Are  the  language  of  the  heart; 
For  they  tell  of  a  mind  undimm'd  by  vice, 

All  spell  of  evil  hushing. 
Oh,  who  would  ere  doubt  the  guileless  heart 

That  speaks  in  artless  blushing! 

The  colorless  face,  the  pallid  brow, 

May  perhaps  enchant  thine  eye, 
But  give  me  the  cheek  that  owns  the  glow 

Of  nature's  healthful  dye; 
It  seems  to  shadow  an  honest  soul, 

Where  the  purest  thoughts  are  gushing; 
And  loveliest,  far,  is  beauty's  cheek 

When  tinged  with  artless  blushing. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  223 

MAKCH  OF  LIFE. 

Marching  on  and  marching  ever, 

'Mid  plenty,  pestilence  and  starving, 
Backward  turning  never,  never; 
Hearts  may  break,  and  kindred  sever, 

Yet  ne'er  the  weary  race  is  run, 

Until  eternity  is  won. 

Cheek,  and  bloom,  and  youth  are  fading, 
Still  whiter  grow  the  locks  of  age, 

Some  thro'  seas  of  anguish  wading, 

Griefs  their  souls  forever  lading, 

Myriad  hearts  with  sorrow  heaping, 
Bowed  to  wretchedness  and  weeping. 

Rich  and  poor  together  wending, 
Strangely  vice  and  virtue  meeting, 

Good  and  evil  quaintly  blending, 

Soon  the  hurried  march  is  ending; 

'Mid  pleasure's  smiles  or  sorrow's  frown, 
The  vital  gift  must  all  lay  down. 

Some,  in  folly's  gaudy  dressing, 

Have  never  known  an  hour  of  sadness, 

Never  felt  cares'  bleak  distressing 

Blessed  with  fortune's  soft  caressing, 
In  the  lap  of  luxury  nurst, 
With  no  pang  of  misery  curst. 


224  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

All  are  hastening  to  that  ocean, 

Where  mortal  and  immortal  sever, 
There  must  end  all  life's  emotion, 
Hearts  with  all  their  fond  devotion, 

Mortal  spirit  there  must  yield, 
Lip  and  eye  forever  sealed. 

See!  a  fair  and  joyous  being, 

Enchanted  walks  a  way  of  brightness, 
With  no  dreaming  or  foreseeing 
That  the  moments  from  her  fleeing 

Will  bear  away  the  roseate  flowers 
That  joy  upon  her  pathway  show'rs. 

While  in  fancy's  sunlight  basking, 

We  live  in  an  ethereal  world, 
.    Yet  may  come  the  fearful  tasking, 
Blighted  hope,  and  feelings  masking, 

Can  earth  have  aught  to  charm  us 
When  those  dreaming  hours  are  o'er  ? 

Ideal  nympths  such  glories  twining, 

Create  a  paradise  within, 
But  the  rays  so  brightly  shining, 
Fade  as  twilight's  hues  declining 

Soon  thought's  fairy-land  is  blighted. 
Fled  the  elves  that  so  benighted. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  225 

Worn,  and  weary,  and  forsaken, 

One  moves  amid  the  gathering  throng, 

Soon  her  step  by  death's  o'ertaken, 

In  a  happier  world  to  waken, 

.Released  at  last  from  sorrow's  snare, 
Eternal  peace  awaits  her  there. 

Blighted  one,  once  hope  was  singing 
To  thee  of  fair  and  blissful  hours, 

O'er  thy  way  such  splendor  flinging, 

Gladness  to  thy  bosom  bringing, 

For  that  heart,  what — what  is  left 
Of  all  its  dearest  visions  reft  ? 

Spirit!  look  where  quenchless  burning, 

The  star  of  faith  divinely  glows; 
From  affliction  bravely  turning, 
Forbearance  from  earth's  trials  learning, 

And  seek  in  that  pure  sphere  above 
A  refuge  in  a  Saviour's  love. 

ShrivelPd  form,  and  tresses  hoary, 
Age's  tottering  steps  are  moving, 
Faded  now  his  dreams  of  glory, 
Soon  will  end  life's  changeful  story, 

Arid  all  its  pleasures,  all  its  pain, 
May  never  thrill  his  soul  again . 


226 


Childhood  too,  with  mind  so  cheerful, 

Gambols  'mid  the  varied  throng, 
Knowing  not  how  gay  or  tearful, 
Fate  may  wait  them  bright  and  fearful, 

Bevelling  in  the  dreams  of  youth, 
'Ere  yet  the  soul  hath  known  untruth. 

Why  should  end  their  youthful  joying  ? 

Why  should  grief's  stera  spectre  start  them  ? 
Angel  natures  thus  annoying, 
Guileless  happiness    destroying? 

Would  heav'n  tbat  they  might  ever  be 
From  care's  besetting  vipers  free. 

Marching  on,  life's  thread  is  weaving, 

Still  unwinds  the  fragile  cord, 
Mortals  hoping,  weeping,  grieving, 
'Mid  earth's  trusting  and  deceiving; 

'Tis  well  if  in  the  hapless  race. 
In  one  true  heart  ye  find  a  place. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  227 


JUNE. 

Behold  the  roseate  June  is  here, 

With  flowery  vines  and  dewy  gems, 
With  clustering  buds  and  berries  bright, 

Now  pendant  from  their  fragrant  stems; 
The  tulip  in  her  brilliant  garb 

So  proudly  rears  her  crimson  vest, 
While  daisy,  in  her  modest  bloom, 

Peeps  timid  from  her  grassy  nest. 

The  varied  roses  droop  their  heads, 

Like  blushing  maids  in  coyful  pride, 
While  orange-wreaths  and  lilies  white 

Deck  summer  as  a  lovely  bride; 
And  lo  !  the  violet  so  meek, 

The  peony  and  mignonette, 
The  jasmine,  larkspur,  daffodil, 

And  she  that  bids  us  not  forget. 

The  myrtle,  telling  of  true  love, 

And  snow-drops  all    so  fair  and  frail, 
Narcissus,  iris  and  sweet  pea. 

And  pink  so  delicately  pale, 
Carnation,  grove-love  and  hare-bell, 

Magnolia  and  rich  woodbine, 
The  passion  flower,  verbena  pure, 

And  golden-gemmed  loasa  vine. 


228  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Like  fairies  met  in  rivalry 

Along  the  banks  of  every  stream 
Sweet  flora's  flower  jewels  now, 

In  varied  beauty,  glorious  gleam 
Mocking  the  rainbow's  heavenly  dyes, 

With  many  a  dazzling,  radiant  hue; 
All  emblems,  too,  of  mortals,  each — 

Of  pride,  of  worth,  and  virtue  true. 

The  cherries  twinkle  through  each  bough, 
All  brilliant  in  the  morning  light, 

While  strawberries,  like  coral  gems, 

Glow  temptingly  upon  the  sight; 
The  raspberries  like   rubies,  gleam 
Amid  their  downy  emerald  leaves, 

And  clustering  currants,  thickly  hang 

Where  sunlight  glittering  fret- work  weaves. 

And  birds  their  rapturous  notes  pour  forth 

In  strains  of  gladness  on  the  air, 
E'en  as  in  Paradise  of  old, 

Ere  earth  had  known  of  sin  and  care 
The  oriole's  mellifluous  songs 

Now  rouse  the  drowsy  early  morn, 
The  whip-poor-will  in  carols  soft 

Proclaims  the  twilight's  hazy  dawn. 


15 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  229 

The  rills  adown  the  mountains  spun, 

And  gently  murmur  their  delight, 
And  fountains  leaping  into  air, 

Sprinkle  their  diamond  sparks  of  light  ; 
While  sleepy  cows  with,  lagging  steps, 

Amid  the  fruitful  pastures  rove, 
The  sportive  lambs  in  frolic  wild, 

With  graceful  antics,  playful  move. 

The  busy  ants  in  armies  march 

To  labor  where  the  sunbeams  glow  ; 
The  merry  bees,  like  changeful  friends, 

From  flower  to  flower  haste  to  and  fro  ; 
The  butterfly,  so  languid,  soars 

And  flaps  her  wings  so  rich,  so  vain  ! 
And  locust,  darting  swiftly  by, 

Repeats  his  ever  whirring  strain. 

The  healthful  trees  extend  their  arms, 

In  their  green  robes  of  summer  drest  ; 
The  sloping  hill,  in  verdant  pride, 

Bears  high  its  grassy  velvet  crest. 
The  trees,  the  plants,  each  drop  of  dew, 

Proclaim  the  great  Creator's  power, 
Who  made  each  star  a  rolling  world, 

And  shaped  the  modest  daisy  flower. 


OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY 


230  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Iris  her  mazy  pendant  hangs 

Athwart  the  dreamy  azure  sky  ; 
While  in  the  west  the  piling  clouds, 

Like  mimic  mountains  quaintly  lie. 
Pomona  laboring  with  the  suu, 

A  store  of  luscious  fruit  will  heap  ; 
While  Ceres  soon  the  ripening  grain 

With  thrifty  care  will  plenteous  reap. 

Oh,  woman  !  turn  from  fashion's  halls, 

Where  pomp  and  folly  warp  the  heart ; 
Learn  from  the  flowers  this  lesson  true, 

That  nature  needs  no  gauds  of  art  : 
Let  her  sweet  gifts  our  time  employ, 

That  now  to  vanity  is  given, 
Then  we,  though  clothed  in  mortal  form, 

May  show  the  attributes  of  heaven. 

All  hail  the  farmers  !  men,  indeed  ! 

The  hardy  tillers  of  the  earth  ; 
Nature's  true  noblemen  are  they, 

Of  sturdy,  sure  and  matchless  worth. 
Long  may  the  members  of  this  club 

In  wisdom  meet,  as  they  do  now, 
Imparting  knowledge  to  the  world — 
The  heroes  of  the  soil  and  plough  ! 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  231 

FANCY'S   WEAVING. 

All  the  day  I  sate  me  weaving, 

Glittering  threads  in  loom  of  thought, 
Nursing  fond  the  gay  deceiving, 

Fancy's  cheating  elves  had  wrought. 
Sitting  'neath  the  old  tree's  shadow, 

Down  beside  the  laughing  stream, 
With  no  thought  of  earthly  pinings, 

Lost  in  vision's  happy  dream. 

While  the  sunlight  snake  like  coiling, 

Twisted  with  each  dimpl'd  wave, 
As  if  amid  the  shining  waters, 

Mermaids  their  bright  tresses  lave ; 
Far  into  the  night  still  dreaming, 

Thought  like  wilful  fairy  flies, 
Up  to  heav'n  as  fain  'twould  pilfer 

Some  bright  planet  from  the  skies. 

High  amid  the  bright  world's  wand'ring. 

In  the  azure  sky  above, 
Hoping  there  some  kindred  spirit, 

Would  give  back  true  love  for  love, 
Dream'd  I  of  a  heart  so  faithful, 

'Mid  my  ev'ry  wo,  or  joy, 
But  I  fear  me  'mong  life's  changes, 

The  real  shall  my  sweet  dream  destroy, 


232  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

All  fair  the  brilliant  threads  were  woven, 

As  bright  sunbeams  there  were  'twin'd, 
Without  one  shadow  on  their  glowing, 

So  rich  the  mingling  hues  combin'd  ; 
So  would  I  ever  thus  be  weaving, 

Glittering  threads  in  loom  of  thought, 
Nursing  fond  the  gay  deceiving, 

Fancy's  cheating  elves  had  wrought. 


A   LAY  FOE   YOU   AND   I. 

Though  mighty  thy  sorrows  to  brave  it  e'er  try, 

Tho'  thy  peace  and  thy  joys,  like  a  temple  o'erthrown; 
Seems  scattered  around,  tho'  care's  spectre  may  sigh, 
O'er  the  happiness  now  that  forever  hath  flown  ; 
O'er  ruin  of  years, 
Hope's  rainbow  appears, 

And  mercy's  clear  sunlight  pours  down  from  on  high, 
Tho'  grief's  tempests  are  hov'ring  still  in  life's  sky. 

Tho'  affections  may  change,  though  hearts  may  grow  cold, 

Still,  alas  !  as  mortality  often  will  do, 
There's  one  to  his  bosom  the  stricken  will  fold, 
There  is  one  'mid  all  trials,  forever  is  true  ; 
Then  never  despair, 
But  trust  to  his  care, 

Who  the  numberless  sands  of  the  sea  hath  told, 
No  matter  what  woes  in  life's  plan  are  enrolled . 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  233 

Tho'  the  loved  and  the  loving  have  passed  from  our  sight, 

Tho'  the  voice  that  was  dearest  may  greet  us  no  more, 
Faith's  star  will  shine  out,  thro  grief's  stormiest  night, 
Like  a  beacon  of  hope  from  some  far  distant  shore ; 
As  still  'mid  the  haze 
On  the  mariner's  gaze, 

A  gleam  from  the  lighthouse  is  glittering  bright, 
So  faith  'mid  life's  shoals  all  the  pathway  shall  light. 

My  brother,  on  earth  I  must  still,  still  bear  on, 

Tho'  thy  love  that  sustained  me  when  trials  were  near, 
Forever  like  starlight  from  life  has  been  shorn, 
My  way  all  so  sad  without  thee  doth  appear, 
The  future  so  bright, 
Is  vail'd  all  in  night. 

Yet  hope  still  is  singing  like  lark  at  the  dawn, 
We  shall  meet  on  that  shore  where  all  cease  to  mourn. 

Ah  !  youth,  all  thy  dreamings  soon,  soon  must  they  leave, 

My  bosom  will  pine  o'er  their  shadowless  flight^ 
The  glorious  visions  fair  fancy  can  weave, 
Reality,  dismal  and  grim  as  the  night, 

May  kill  with  a  breath, 
Like  spirit  of  death, 

While  we  o'er  the  past  in  lone  sorrow  may  grieve, 
And  weep  that  stern  time  should  the  soul  thus  bereave. 


234  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Care's  weary  ones,  why  in  despondency  bow  ? 

Bouse  up  in  life's  battle,  still  fearless  move  on, 
See  faith  rear  her  banner  and  calls  to  ye  now, 

There's  a  cross  to  be  borne — there's  a  prize  to  be  won, 
Why  lag  in  the  way, 
To  the  endless  day, 

There's  a  glittering  crown  for  each  sainted  brow, 
For  all  who  shall  win  in  the  struggle  below. 

Ah  !  surely  my  brother  a  crown  thou  hast  won  ? 

And  e'en  now  'mid  the  Angels  in  glory  art  blest ; 
In  splendor  surpassing  the  noondays  bright  sun, 
In  the  light — light  eternal  thy  spirit  doth  rest, 
So  perfect  seem'st  thou, 
I  dream  of  thee  now, 

On  the  bosom  of  Him  who  awaits  to  adorn, 
Each  spirit  from  earth  to  His  presence  that's  borne. 

Ah  !  ye  who,  in  poverty,  labor  and  pine, 

There  is  peace  and  a  guerdon  that  waits  you  above  ; 
Thou  meek  one,  who  dauntlessly  meets  all  that's  thine, 
Oh  !  thou — thou  art  the  first  in  God's  pitying  love, 
When  earth  shall  have  passed, 
First  there,  tho'  here  last  : 

And  seraphs  for  each  their  bright  chaplet  shall  twine, 
When  ye  in  the  kingdom  of  glory  shall  shine. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  235 

All  !  proud  child  of  fashion  and  folly  take  heed, 

For  so  narrow's  the  pathway  that  leadeth  to  God  ; 
Beware  lest  some  demon  of  evil  mislead 

Thy  steps  from  the  path  by  the  penitent  trod  ; 
For  scarce  can  we  tell, 
If  aught  we  do  well. 

As  moment  on  moment  so  swiftly  doth  speed, 
Such  watching  the  earth  bounded  spirit  doth  need. 


THE   WINDS. 

Whirling,  careering  o'er  city  and  plain, 

In  boisterous  singing  the  wild  winds  are  sweeping, 
Like  giants  in  strength  on  their  tireless  course  ; 

Now  here,  and  now  there  ever  dancing  and  leaping ; 
Ah  !  wierd  minstrels  are  they, 
On  their  shadowless  way. 
Like  phantoms  hurriedly  fluttering  by. 

O'er  drear  home  of  poverty  mournfully  sad, 

So  doleful  the  sound  of  their  spirit  like  singing  ; 
Where  a  weary  one  sits  in  hunger  and  woe, 

But  death  there  a  balm  to  that  pain'd  heart  is  bringing, 
For  on  wings  of  the  blast, 
Lo  !  the  worn  soul  hath  past, 
To  that  griefless  home  in  the  glittering  sky. 


236  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Lost  in  mid  ocean  a  wreck' d  bark  goes  down, 

Where  each  proud  wave,  on  wave,  is  franticly  bounding, 
There  the  shivering  winds  their  trumpeting  notes, 
With  the  last  lone  sob  of  the  dying  is  sounding, 
And  the  firmament  rings 
With  the  sound  of  their  wings, 
As  tossing  and  springing  from  wave  unto  wave. 

'Mid  the  tombs  that  like  ghastly  spectres  gleam  out, 

A  solemn  dirge  they  are  plaintively  chanting  ; 
Like  troubled  souls  from  their  earth  temples  cast  forth, 
Now  the  graves  of  their  tenantless  dwelling  haunting  ; 
For  so  wierd  like  and  strange, 
On  their  mystical  range, 
In  sorrowful  sighing  from  grave  unto  grave. 

Ah  !  many  a  tale  could  ye  whisper,  wild  winds, 
Of  guiltiness,  crime,  and  of  mortal  anguish, 
Of  the  widows  and  orphans  who  friendless  sigh, 
And  the  myriad  hearts  that  unpitied  languish  ; 
Oh  !  could  ye  but  tell, 
In  your  choral's  swell, 
Of  all  ye  have  witnessed  from  day  to  day. 

Yet  of  many  a  gladsome  scene  could  ye  sing, 

Of  the  festival  throngs  in  joy  abiding, 
Of  the  fond  vows  pledging  in  innocent  love, 

And  hearts  where  no  serpent  of  sorrow  is  hiding  ; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  237 

Yet  away  do  ye  sweep, 
O'er  the  city  and  deep, 
So  heedless  of  all  on  your  drearisome  way. 

No  comfort  ye  bring,  oh  !  ye  pitiless  winds, 

To  the  heart  that  aches  for  the  lost  and  the  loving, 
For  ye  seem  but  to  mock  at  our  human  woe, 
As  onward  from  palace  to  cot  ye  are  roving  ; 
But  like  a  spectral  bell, 
Ye  so  solemnly  knell, 
As  if  rung  from  the  shores  of  eternity. 

Speed  by,  oh  !  speed  by,  no  kind  ministers  are  ye, 
For  no  gladness  is  felt  in  your  chilly  breathing, 
But  of  sorrow,  and  pain,  ye  seem  ever  to  wail, 

While  the  dun  clouds  for  earth  their  snow  bands  are 

But  away  with  the  night,  [wreathing  ; 

Be  your  hurried  flight, 
For  ye  sing  but  a  sorrowful  dirge  to  me. 


APPEAL  FOB  NICABAGUA. 

America,  thine  hand  extend, 

To  him,  the  fearless  and  the  brave, 

A  second  Washington  now  asks, 
Your  aid  to  succor  and  to  save; 


238  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Thousands  down-trodden  in  the  dust, 
By  tyrant  will  despotic  bound; 

Ah!  freedom,  let  thy  beating  pulse, 

Throughout  each  throbbing  heart  resound. 

Walker  the  dauntless,  lo!  he  shines, 

A  beaming  sun  before  the  world; 
And  soon  may  Liberty's  proud  flag, 

By  his  brave  spirit,  be  unfurled 
O'er  Nicaragua,  gifted  land, 

That  now  in  servile  bondage  sighs; 
Freeman,  a  brother's  hand  extend, 

Nor  moveless  hear  oppression's  cries. 

Behold!  as  Summer's  blooming  queen, 

In  nature's  loveliest  hues  bedight; 
She  offers  now  a  precious  store 

Of  luscious  fruits  and  blossoms  bright, 
Columbia,  view  thine  hapless  child, 

Like  captive  maiden  left  to  mourn; 
Deck'd  as  a  bride  that  comes  to  wed, 

And  finds  her  love  but  met  with  scorn. 


Oh!  tear  the  fetters  from  her  limbs, 
Unlink  the  chains  that  bind  her  now; 

God  gives  us  one  to  burst  her  bonds, 
And  twine  the  olive  round  her  brow. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  239 

His  patriotic — gallant  deeds, 

Shall  blazon  on  the  shield  of  fame; 
And  mothers  teach  their  lisping  babes 

To  love  and  bless  our  Hero's  name. 

Arm  'gainst  oppression's  dastard  sway, 
And  Freedom!  let  your  watchword  be; 

Let  tyrant  rule  and  slavish  bonds, 
Give  place  to  priceless  liberty. 


SONG. 

Prostrate  lo!  I  bow  before  thee, 
Thus  to  woo  and  thus  implore  thee, 
Lady,  Oh!  my  heart  restore  me. 

Or  say  thou  wilt  be  mine. 

Angels  bless,  protect,  and  guide  thee, 
Never  may  an  ill  betide  thee, 
Mercy  ever  watch  beside  thee, 

Peace  and  joy  be  thine. 

May  I  ask  amid  thy  dreaming 
Where  truths  holy  gems  are  beaming- 
Like  the  stars  in  ocean  gleaming, 

I  may  sometimes  be. 


240 


If  too  much  this  fond  heart's  asking 
Never  more  'twill  claim  the  tasking, 
But  thankful  be  if  happy  basking, 

In  dreams — in  dreams  of  thee. 

Meeting  thus  thy  gentle  glances, 
Every  look  my  heart  entrances, 
Every  smile  thy  pow'r  enhances, 

Treasure  of  my  heart. 

Leave  thee,  dearest?  never — never, 
Know  that  I  am  thine  forever, 
From  thee,  oh!  'twere  grief  to  sever, 

Say  not  we  must  part. 


IN  MEMORY 
OF  ONE  WHO  DIED  IN  BLOOM  OF  YOUTH. 

JTis  over — and  the  pulsing  heart, 

Hath  ceas'd  for  aye  its  mortal  throes; 
'Tis  over,  and  the  beaming  eye, 

Is  slumbering  now  in  death's  repose: 
No  more  ye'll  hear  the  merry  laugh, 

With  its  sweet  tones  of  gladness  ring, 
No  more  ye'll  hear  that  gentle  voice, 

The  great  Creator's  praises  sing. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

:  __  / 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Yet  wherefore  weep,  ye  would  not  sure 

Becall  her  to  earth's  changes  now; 
Nay  she  hath  reached  that  better  land; 

Immortal  chaplets  crown  her  brow. 
Thou  lovely  temple  of  a  soul, 

As  thou  art  now—  we  all  must  be. 
Who  would  not  fling  earth's  glories  down 

For  the  sure  bliss  that  welcomes  thee. 

So  young  to  die  —  in  youth's  fresh  bloom, 

A  warning  sad  to  me,  and  all 
Who  late  have  marked  thee  sudden  pass, 

As  leaflets  from  their  branches  fall; 
I  scarce  had  known  thee  'ere  thou'dst  fled, 

A  minister  of  God's  holy  love, 
An  angel  sent  in  mortal  guise, 

To  teach  the  path  that  leads  above. 

So  much  of  what  thou  wert  in  life, 

In  thy  calm  features  might  they  trace, 
Though  death  —  the  terrible  —  the  stern, 

Laid  his  white  shadow  on  thy  face; 
Peace  to  thine  ashes  —  and  thy  soul, 

Oh!  may  it  in  heaven's  splendor  rest, 
Nought—  nought  of  earth  may  reach  thee  there, 

In  that  far  dwelling  of  the  blest. 


242  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

OH  !   THERE'S  A  GRIEF. 

Oh,  there's  a  grief  to  pale  the  cheek, 

And  rend  the  sternest  heart, 
When  death  shall  come  'tween  friend  and  kin, 

And  tear  love's  links  apart. 

Thou  fearful  hour  when  Mother  fond, 
Her  anguish'd  tears  must  shed, 

Above  her  infant's  precious  form, 
All  lifeless — pale — and  dead. 

My  heart  could  bow  to  any  ill, 
Could  bear  with  fortunes  change, 

And  tearless  mark  earth's  selfish  hearts, 
When  careless  friendships  range. 

But  wo  when  those  the  dearly  priz'd, 

No  more  may  wander  near, 
When  ceas'd  affections  gentle  voice, 

With  its  sweet  tones  to  cheer. 

Oh!  grievous  agony  of  wo, 

The  soul  may  know  of  ever, 
When  heart  with  heart  so  fondly  link'd, 

Stern  death  hath  forc'd  to  sever. 

So  vainly  fall  the  bitter  tears, 

When  earthly  ties  are  riv'n, 
Yet  turn,  ch!  grief  wrung  souls  to  God, 

Look  up  with  faith  to  heav'n. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  243 


TO  F- 


Doth  friendship,  the  sincere,  the  true, 

For  me  dwell  in  thy  breast  ? 
There  let  it,  in  calm  holiness, 

Like  Angel  spirit  rest, 
There  let  it  dwell  as  radiant  clear, 

As  sunbeams  glancing  bright, 
A  holy  spell — a  beaming  star, 

A  ray  of  quenchless  light. 

Why  talk  of  age; — 'ere  yet  time's  frost, 

In  thy  dark  curls  we  trace  ? 
Why  talk  of  age, — ere  yet  his  lines 

Have  furrowed  o'er  thy  face  ? 
Why  warn  of  worldly  heartlessness 

As  some  strange  wizard  art  ? 
Nay!  let  me  still  believe  the  face, 

Forever  speaks  the  heart. 

The  world — I  seek  not  to  be  thrown 

Amid  its  varying  throng, 
But  choose  in  fancy's  realms  to  live, 

A  simple  child  of  song; 
Then  judge  them  not — as  artful,  false, 

Who  scarce  the  world  may  know, 
By  candor  o'er  life's  changeful  scenes, 

Truth's  holy  splendors  throw. 


244  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


BKIGHTER   DAYS. 

When  writhing  'neath  afflictions  smart, 
When  torturing  sorrows  rend  thy  heart, 

Oh!  turn  thy  gaze — 
Not  to  the  past,  but  future  years, 
Still  hope  'mid  all  thine  anguish'd  tears, 

For  brighter  days . 

But  picture  forth  the  coming  hours, 
Wreathed  in  fancy's  richest  flowers, 

And  beaming  rays; 

Though  blighting  winds  sweep  harshly  by, 
Yet  dream,  though  ev'ry  leaflet  die, 

Of  brighter  days. 

Though  the  dear  songs  thou'st  loved  of  yore, 
May  greet  thy  raptur'd  ear  no  more, 

The  thrilling  lays, 

Though  the  loved  form  be  cold  and  dead, 
Oh!  hope,  though  ev'ry  joy  has  fled, 
For  brighter  days. 

Though  friendship's  bonds  are  rudely  broken, 
Though  love  hath  left  no  treasur'd  token, 

To  cheer  life's  ways. 

Though  eyes  once  fond  grew  cold  and  strange, 
Oh!  dream  'mid  ev'ry  blight  and  change, 

Of  brighter  days. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  245 

Though  no  hands  with  love  caress  thee, 
Though  no  mother's  voice  may  bless  thee, 

In  words  of  praise; 

Though  fondest  hearts  may  coldly  sever, 
Oh!  trust  'mid  darkest  trials  ever, 

For  brighter  days. 

What  though  like  sunlight  from  the  stream, 
E'en  hope  may  lose  her  gladdest  beam, 

Her  cheerful  blaze, 
Ah!  yet  mid  fearful  doubt  and  ill, 
Let  happy  fancy  whisper  still, 

Of  brighter  days. 

Though  thy  heart  is  filled  with  sadness, 
And  never  one  sweet  tone  of  gladness, 

Across  it  strays; 

Yes!  though  thy  soul  be  sorrow  riv'n, 
Still  joyful  turn  to  yonder  heav'n, 

For  brighter  days. 


1C 


MONODY. 

Lo!  romping  o'er  the  hills  so  joyous, 

Dances  along  the  merry  rill, 
As  "ere  came  sorrow  to  annoy  us, 

The  heart  with  gladness  aye  would  thrill. 


246  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

But  soon  its  gleesome,  singing,  hushing, 
Comes  forth  the  Winter's  frosty  breath, 

And  ceases  then  its  lively  rushing, 
Palsied  as  by  sudden  death, 

As  all  so  glad  thou  tiny  river, 
Onward  thy  mimic  wavelets  flow, 

While  bright  the  sparkling  ripples  quiver, 
In  the  Summer's  sunniest  glow. 

So  she  in  meekest  holy,  trusting, 
Cheerful  journeyed  011  life's  way, 

Till  Death  with  swift  and  sudden  thrusting^ 
All  sternly  bade  life's  pulses  stay. 

While  fondest  hearts  were  grateful  beating, 
So  high  with  hope  and  thankful  pray'r, 

Came  that  spectral  presence  cheating, 
Of  the  prized — the  treasur'd  there. 

Like  a  lily  crushed  and  broken, 
All  lifeless  lay  that  slender  frame; 

And  gave  she  not  one  farewell  token, 
'Ere  life  had  yielded  its  last  claim. 

Yet  a  soft,  a  heavenly  seeming, 
Aye !  made  her  to  affection  dear, 

While  yet  of  earth,  the  spirit  gleaming, 
That  told  she  might  not  linger  here. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  247 

Sadden'd  hearts  bow  down  repining, 

And  mortals  may  not  yield  relief; 
But  with  quenchless,  deathless  twining, 

TRUE  FAITH  SHALL  TRIUMPH  OVER  GRIEF. 

When  sorrows  on  the  soul  are  preying, 

Then  came  our  Savior's  words  to  bless; 
Still  seems  it  that  kind  voice  is  saying, 

"I  WILL  NOT  LEAVE  YE  COMFORTLESS." 

Oh!  never  by  God's  love  forsaken. 

Thy  cross  He'll  give  thee  strength  to  bear; 
Ah!  wherefore  mourn  that  He  has  taken, 

The  fragile  blossom  to  His  care. 

As  comes  the  Springtime  gently  waking, 

The  rill  from  Winter's  frosty  spell; 
E'en  so  her  soul  earth's  fetters  breaking, 

Shall  in  eternal  glory  dwell. 


CHANGING. 

Thou,  and  I,  and  all  are  changing, 
Changing  with  each  busy  hour; 

Look!  throughout  earth's  varied  ranging, 
The  shell  upon  the  wave-beat  shore, 
How  soon  Time  steals  the  gleam  it  wore; 

Naught  may  'scape  the  ruthless  power, 

From  human  heart  to  the  simplest  flow'r. 


248 


Affection,  too,  is  gaily  roving, 
Forever  seeking  a  new  charm: 

For  those  we  dreamt  so  fondly  loving, 
She's  rang  for  aye  her  funeral  knell, 
They  stand  apart  by  some  weird  spell, 

That  vain  we  struggle  to  disarm. 

They  so  kind,  so  soon  forgetting, 

Ah!  change,  thou  blaster  of  the  heart; 

Like  Simoon  hopelessly  besetting, 
Destroying  in  thy  wayward  train, 
Hope's  buds  that  may  not  bloom  again, 

When  rent  the  shudd'ring  leaves  apart. 

Eyes  that,  in  their  star-like  gleaming, 

Seemed  to  light  our  earthly  way; 
Too  oft  we  find  it  all  but  seeming, 

Love's  sunlight — dreamt  we  once  their  glow, 
'Till  wak'd  in  agony  to  know, 
That  treach'ry  lurk'd  beneath  their  ray. 

New  born  hopes  to  life  upstarting, 

O'er  wreck  of  those  that  just  have  fled, 

Sorrow's  frenzied  spectre  darting 
Her  fiery  arrows  through  the  breast, 
That  peace  and  joy  so  late  have  blest, 

And  sweet  content  her  rainbow  spread. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  249 

Changing  mortal  to  immortal, 

A  blessed  holy  thought  in  this; 
For  those  who  strive  to  gain  heav'ns  portal, 
"Mid  all  the  struggling,  burning  throes, 
Of  earth  and  its  embitter'd  woes; 
To  know  tho'  here  our  life's  amiss, 
Beyond  there  is  a  world  of  bliss. 


A  HYMN. 

Jesus,  my  Saviour,  guide  and  aid 

Me  in  the  path  aright, 
Be  Thy  dear  word  to  me  portrayed, 

By  heav'ii  sent  truthful  light. 

When  I  Thy  holy  Scriptures  read, 

Cast  the  dark  vail  away 
That  I  with  knowledge  may  take  heed, 

And  all  its  truth  survey, 

Teach  me  Thy  law  to  love  and  keep, 

And  Satan's  snares  to  shun, 
Teach  me  to  watch,  and  not  to  sleep, 
'Till  all  Thy  will  be  done. 

Thou  know'st,  my  God,  without  Thy  pow'r, 
I  could  not  conquer  sin, 


250  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

For  Satan  tempts  thro'  every  hour, 
My  soul  from  Thee  to  win. 

Then  Jesus,  Saviour,  leave  me  ne'er, 
But  love  and  succor  me, 

If  I,  like  Peter,  faithless  fear, 
Stretch  forth  Thine  hand  to  me. 


A  PRAYER. 

Another  year,  another  year, 

Hath  leaped  into  the  eternal  sea, 
And  in  that  year  most  gracious  God  ! 

How  have  I  serv'd  or  worshipp'd  Thee  ? 
Teach  me  Thy  bless'd  commands  to  keep, 

My  heart  from  pride  and  folly  win; 
Oh  !  Saviour,  with  Thy  cheering  love, 

Take  from  my  soul  all  thought  of  sin. 

And  those  I  love,  Redeemer  bless'd, 

Direct  their  hearts  in  virtue's  way, 
By  Satan's  dark  deluding  wiles, 

Let  them  not,  Lord,  be  led  astray. 
In  Thee,  my  God,  I  hope,  and  trust, 

Oh!  Father,  guide  our  hearts  aright, 
Until  we  stand  redeem'd  and  pure, 

In  that  bright  world  of  endless  light, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  251 

DREAM  ON. 

Dream  on,  dream  on,  oh!  doting  heart, 

Full  soon  may  come  thy  waking, 
To  know  how  earthly  joys  depart, 

To  feel  thy  life  cords  breaking. 

Dream  on,  dream  on  of  future  hours, 

No  thought  of  grief  divining, 
Yet  thorns  are  nestling  'mid  hope's  flow'rs 

That  round  thy  heart  are  twining. 

Dream  on,  dream  on  of  priceless  truth, 

Each  honied  word  believing, 
Full  soon  shall  wake  thy  sunny  youth, 

To  feel  earth's  sad  deceiving. 

Dream  on,  dream  on  in  innocence, 

Nor  start  the  dark  revealing, 
That  yet  must  rouse  thine  eve'ry  sense, 

To  weep  o'er  slighted  feeling, 

Dream  on,  dream  on  of  changeless  love, 

Of  heart  to  heart  united, 
Thou'lt  wake  to  know  how  hearts  can  rove, 

To  feel  existence  blighted. 

Dream  on,  dream  on,  each  glance  still  prize, 

Bestowed  in  artless  seeming, 
Thou'lt  wake  at  least  'mid  tears  and  sighs, 

To  know  thou  wert  but  dreaming. 


252  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 

Oh!  sound  thee,  my  harp,  thy  holiest  lay, 

To  her  who  is  pure  as  the  sunny  ray, 

That  falls  on  the  earth  in  a  golden  show'r, 

From  the  eastern  sky,  at  the  morning  hour; 

When  nature  awakes  from  her  dewy  repose, 

As  the  bud  bursts  forth  to  a  blushing  rose. 

My  mother,  oh!  pure  as  the  liquid  beam, 

That  Cynthia  pours  on  the  crystal  stream, 

'Mid  waste  of  the  desert— a  jewel  bright, 

That  gleams  like  a  star  thro'  the  misty  night; 

Or  lily  that  bows,  as  the  wild  winds  pass, 

Its  virgin  head  'mid  the  silken  grass; 

Not  fleeting  thy  love,  as  the  zephyrs  sigh, 

Or  meteor's  course  through  the  dome  on  high; 

Or  the  transient  gleam  of  an  April  day, 

Or  the  sparkling  change  of  the  diamond's  ray; 

Fix'd  in  my  heart  doth  thine  image  lie, 

As  the  polar  star,  in  the  northern  sky, 

Oh!  bright  as  the  tinge,  like  a  gorgeous  bow, 

On  a  purple  cloud  at  the  sunset  glow; 

My  mother,  my  father,  with  each  gentle  word, 

What  a  gushing  fount  in  my  heart  is  stirr'd; 

What  a  joyous  thrill  thro'  my  bosom's  sent, 

With  glorious  hallowing  mem'ries  blent, 

Of  my  childhood's  home,  of  those  golden  hours, 

When  life  seem'd  a  twining  of  richest  now'rs, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  253 

When  our  hearts  were  gay  as  the  laughing  spring, 
And  our  songs  were  glad  as  the  wild  birds  sing; 
Thou'st  guarded  us  mother,  thro'  trials  and  fears, 
Thou'st  smil'd  with  our  smiles,  and  wept  with  our  tears, 
Shield  her,  oh !  Father  let  my  heart  warm  pray'r, 
Soar  from  this  region  of  death  and  despair, 
To  thy  temple  of  peace — that  home  of  the  blest, 
Where  sorrow  will  end  and  the  soul  be  at  rest. 


THE  BETROTHED. 

The  sun  fast  sought  his  ev'ning  rest, 

Tinging  nature  with  golden  ray; 
While  o'er  the  earth,  brown  shadows  play'd, 

As  warning  of  the  closing  day: 
And  then  appeared  eve's  first  lone  star, 

Bidding  night  claim  his  weary  round, 
Of  dark  and  dreary  solitude, 

When  all  are  in  sweet  slumber  bound; 
There's  clarion  notes  borne  on  the  breeze — 

Proudly  wave's  each  warrior's  plume — 
Those  daring  hearts  but  pant  for  fame, 

Nor  dream  they  of  their  coming  doom. 
And  Albert  breath'd  a  kind  farewell, 

And  bade  each  doubt  and  fear  depart; 
But  there  was  sadness  in  his  voice — 


251  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

That  boded  ill  to  Lila's  heart; 
He  clasp'd  her  fondly  to  his  breast — 

Then  nimbly  mounts  his  gallant  steed, 
And  oft  turned  back  with  eager  gaze, 

As  through  the  moonlight  on  he'd  speed. 
Then,  as  she  ponder'd  o'er  the  past, 

From  her  beauteous  soft  dark  eye 
Freely  flowed  the  pearly  tear; 

And  from  her  bosom  burst  a  sigh, 
Seeming  to  bid  a  sad  farewell 

To  ev'ry  bright  and  joyous  scene, 
Where  they  in  love's  soft,  moonlight  hour 

Had  oft,  so  oft  together  been. 
But  then  she  check'd  her  burning  tears, 

And  strove  to  stay  the  wild  unrest; 
That,  like  the  ocean's  troubled  wave, 

Swell'd  high  within  her  gentle  breast. 

(How  frail  are  all  the  rosy  wreaths 

That  hope  twines  round  the  youthful  heart; 

We  little  dream  of  their  decay, 
Till  one  by  one  the  flow'rs  depart.) 

And  there  came  one — but  all  unmeet, 
To  linger  in  that  heart's  sunlight — 

A  shadow  on  its  surface  clear — 

A  cloud  where  all  was  fair  and  bright. 

He  sought  to  win  her — not  with  smiles — 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  255 

But  to  her  selfish  father  turn'd, 
"With  tender  vow,  and  promise  fair, 

Till  that  sire  with  proud  ambition  burn'd. 
Yet,  'mid  the  dance,  and  at  the  feast, 

Still  Lila  wore  a  happy  smile; 
None  would  have  dreamt,  to  see  that  face, 

The  woe  that  rent  her  heart  the  while. 
Her  step  was  light — her  songs  were  gay, 

As  in  the  golden  days  gone  by; 
But  the  bright  eye,  and  paling  cheek, 

Told  that  the  fatal  hour  was  nigh! 
For  o'er  that  brow,  so  marble  white, 

Now  sorrow  cast  a  deep'ning  shade, 
As  'neath  the  cold  and  bleak  north  wind, 

The  brightest  flow'rs  of  earth  will  fade. 
No  rose  hue  tinges  that  soft  cheek, 

No  ling'ring  of  youths  sunny  day; 
It  were  not  well  for  this  sweet  face 

To  lose  its  wonted  cheerful  ray, 
No  friend  was  near,  to  cheer  that  heart, 

No  kindly  mother's  voice  was  there; 
That  gentle  one  had  breath'd  for  thee 

Her  dying,  last,  and  fervent  pray'r; 
That  sire  had  look'd  into  that  eye, 

Where  death  its  gloomy  spell  reveal'd; 
Kneeling  beside  that  couch  of  pain, 

He  vow'd  his  child  to  guide  and  shield, 
From  all  the  ills  that  might  assail, 


256  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Or  ruffle  her  life's  changing  stream; 
But  from  his  mind  that  hour  had  past, 
As  fades  the  mem'ry  of  a  dream. 

It  suited  ill — that  gorgeous  scene — 

Or  sumptuous  bridal  feast; 
The  bitter  thoughts,  and  breaking  heart, 

That  struggled  in  poor  Lila's  breast. 
And,  Albert,  did  not  heav'n  forewarn 

Thee — of  the  scene  enacted  now  ? 
The  bridal  robe — The  snowy  wreath — 

That  deck'd  thine  own  betrothed's  brow  ? 
And  little  thought  those  happy  guests, 

While  gazing  on  that  simple  wreath, 
Of  hopes,  that  like  the  stagnant  stream, 

Lay  dormant  in  the  heart  beneath. 

(Oh !  woman — thou  weak  fragile  thing — 
How  much  in  life  hast  thou  to  bear! 

For  ever,  in  thy  cup  of  joy, 

There's  sure  to  fall  one  bitter  tear.) 

To  Albert,  far  from  Briton's  coast, 

News  came,  ere  yet  the  month  had  sped, 

His  lady,  though  still  true  to  him, 
Would  be  unto  another  wed. 

The  battle  o'er,  in  triumph  now, 
To  his  dear  home  he  quickly  hied; 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  257 

With  anxious  heart  he  spurs  them  on, 
To  tear  her  from  a  rival's  side. 

The  bridegroom  now,  with  haughty  mien, 

Led  forth  his  pale  and  trembling  bride; 
That  daughter  sacrificed,  to  feed 

A  father's  vain,  ambitious  pride, 
Like  lily  'fore  the  sacred  shrine, 

The  fair  dejected  Lila  knelt, 
'The  tear  suppress'd;  the  smother'cl  sigh, 

Hid  what  that  throbbing  bosom  felt. 
The  vow  scarce  breath'd,  ere  from  the  throng 

Albert,  with  palid,  anxious  face, 
Stepp'd  forth — ah!  well  she  knew  that  form, 

And  swooning  sinks  in  his  embrace. 
Oh!  long  he  gaz'd  on  that  fair  broWj 

And  eager  lists  return  of  breath; 
Fondly  he  kiss'd  her  o'er  and  o'er, 

But  Lila's  lips  were  cold  in  death! 

And  rosy  morn  stole  slowly  forth, 

Flinging  her  blushes  o'er  the  earth; 
While  nature,  with  sweet  harmony, 

Welcomed  with  joy  her  cloudless  birth. 
But  where  was  she,  the  fair  betroth'd  ? 

A  holy  silence  dwells  around; 
'That  lip  has  ceas'd  its  murmer  low, — 

Hush'd,  hush'd,  is  ev'ry  mirthful  sound. 


258  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

(Oh!  death,  there's  beauty  in  thy  pow'r, 

Which  all  of  this  bright  earth  must  feel; 
The  bliss  of  an  immortal  life, 

To  all  mankind  thou  dost  reveal.) 

Ay!  cast  aside  the  bridal  robe, 

And  bring  the  shroud — the  pall — the  bier — 
The  eye  that  late  with  triumph  beam'd, 

Is  darken' d  now  by  sorrows  tear; 
Old  sire!  weep  on!  well  may'st  thou  weep 

O'er  thy  pale  victim,  cold  and  still! 
Look  through  thy  tears,  and  see  her  there, 

The  reed  that  bow'd  to  thy  stern  will; 
And  Albert,  oh!  thou,  too,  must  weep; 

Thy  vows,  thy  pray's,  are  all  in  vain; 
Not  tears,  nor  sighs,  nor  earthly  pow'r, 

May  bring  thy  Lila  back  again. 

(How  oft,  too  late— too  late  we  pour, 

O'er  vanish'd  hopes  our  burning  tears — 

Oer  darken'd  dreams,  that  once  were  bright; 
The  shadows  from  departed  years.) 

Oh!  thou  art  sad!  and  Lila's  lute 
May  wake  for  the  no  joyous  strain; 

No  more— no  more— thou  Ft  hear  that  voice, 
Till  heav'n  unites  your  hearts  again. 

Albert,  now  bow'd  in  heart  and  mind, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  259 

For  loos'd  were  love's  endearing  bands, 
He  left  his  home,  where  all  was  dark, 

And  sought  for  change  in  distant  lands, 
But  that  stern  father,  where  is  he? 

Behold  him  in  .yon  lonely  cell — 
A  maniac!— for  when  Lila  died, 

Beneath  the  stroke  his  reason  fell. 
'Tis  o'er!  and  I  have  told  my  tale. 

Not  as  the  mighty  bard  would  tell; 
Lena,  to  thee  I  raise  my  strain, 

To  Lila's  memory — farewell! 


OUR   EARLIER   YEARS. 

'Tis  rnem'ry  strikes  her  mystic  harp, 

To  sing  of  other  days; 
And  lo  !  the  voices  of  the  past, 

Chaunt  forth  their  spirit  lays; 
Warbling  of  brighter,  happier  hours, 

'Ere  yet  the  heart  could  dream; 
How  transients  was  the  meteor  blaze, 

That  lit  life's  changeful  stream. 

Oh  !  love,  and  hope,  how  false  your  light, 

How  fleet,  and  false  your  stay; 
Too  soon  the  clouds  of  sorrow  chase 


260  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Your  sunbeams  from  our  way; 
And  what  is  life  ?  to  some  a  dream, 

A  path  of  rosy  light; 
To  others  oft  eternal  gloom, 

A  black  and  starless  night. 

The  past,  the  sad,  the  happy  past, 

Comes  floating  on  my  brain, 
As  on  the  parching  summer  flow'rs, 

Pours  down  the  sparkling  rain, 
Comes  back  the  scenes  of  childhood, 

My  mother's  gentle  smile, 
Ye  blessed  hours  of  infancy, 

How  thoughts  of  ye  beguile; 
'Ere  ruthless  time  with  wizard  breath, 
Hath  warn'd  the  heart  of  change  and  death. 

The  heart  at  most  is  a  wayward  thing, 
Though  in  it  the  purest  affections  spring; 
'Tis  changiing — the  lover  may  idly  rove, 
Yet  nought  is  so  true  as  a  mother's  love, 
We  may  trace  it  back  thro'  the  by-gone  years, 
To  our  careless  sports  and  our  childish  fears, 
To  the  kiss  oft  pressed  on  the  thoughtless  brow, 
Is  there  aught  in  this  world  so  holy  now  ? 

Then  nature  spoke  to  the  heart — from  rock  and  hill, 
From  the  woodland  shade  and  the  sparkling  rill, 
From  flowery  fields,  and  flashing  streams, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  261 

Oh  !  youth  is  a  fairy  world  of  dreamt, 
But  they  fade,  like  the  rainbow  tints  away, 
Or  the  golden  beams  of  the  closing  da}*; 
And  ne'er  may  the  future,  one  joy  restore, 
Like  the  peace  enshrined  in  our  hearts  of  yore. 

How  blest  are  they — the  youthful  throng, 

The  merry  hearted  child; 
It  hath  no  dream  of  sadness  yet, 

No  sorrow  deep  and  wild; 
For  grirflexx  are  our  early  tears 
To  those  that  full  in  after  year*. 

Oh  !  weep  not  o'er  the  early  dead, 

The  guiltless  one  at  rest; 
When  the  gaze  is  fixed — and  the  brow  is  cold, 

And  the  white  shroud  wraps  the  breast, 
What — tho'  the  form  lies  'neath  the  sod, 

The  sinless  spirit  hath  past  to  God. 

And  chide  thou  not  the  youthful  heart, 

Oh  !  check  not  its  wild  glee; 
Though  its  sweet  tones  of  merriment, 

Bring  no  glad  thoughts  to  thee; 
Still  let  its  songs  of  joy  be  loud, 
Though  thy  heart  be  lone  in  sorrow  bow'd. 

Oh !  hallow'd  time  of  innocence 
How  doth  the  soul  repine; 


262  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

O'er  the  bright  visions  fled  with  thee, 

Those  blissful  hours  of  thine, 
And  mem'ry  turns  the  giddy  brain, 
To  live  your  beauties  o'er  again. 


JEANIE. 

Where  Teviots  dale  an'  waters  meet, 
The  waves  come  dancin'  to  your  feet, 
\Vi'  voice  o'  music  laigh  an'  sweet. 

There  ance  o'  eld  dwelt  lassie  braw, 

As  ever  graced  a  Scottish  ba', 

Wi'  sparklin  e'en  an'  brow  o'  snaw: 

Proud  Donald  strove  to  win  her  saul, 

But  owre  it  he  had  na  control, 

Than  owre  the  pearls  the  seas  that  roll, 

The  winsome  maid  wa'd  na'e  relent; 
She  cou'd  na'e  wi'  a  heart  content 
To  be  his  bride  e'er  gi'  consent: 

For  Willie  was  the  lad  she  loo'd, 
He  vainly  to  her  had  na  sued, 
But  won  the  cantie  lass  he  woo'd: 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  263 

An'  how  her  heart  wad  heave  an'  swell, 
As  tales  o'  faithfu'  lov  he'd  tell, 
O'  a'  its  magic  witchin'  spell. 

'Twas  e'en — and  brightly  blink'd  each  star, 
While  Cynthia  on  her  glintin  car, 
Row'd  011  in  majestic  afar; 

The  sea  nymphs  sported  wi'  the  waves, 

While  elfies  darted  frae  their  caves, 

Like  moonlight  gieamin'  owre  the  graves; 

The  saft  win's  wi'  the  foliage  play'd, 
"While  neath  the  hawthorn's  flow'rie  shade 
Sat  Willie  wi'  the  bashfu'  maid; 

An'  there  the  lovers  a'  sae  true, 
Kiss'd  owre  an'  owre  a  sweet  adieu, 
While  nae  a  care  their  bosoms  knew; 

An'  as  he  clasp'd  her  to  his  heart 
Alake!  she  was  sae  laith  to  part, 
The  vera  thought  her  soul  wad  smart: 

There  mony  a  vow  he'd  breath'd  sae  kind, 
An'  mony  a  wreath  sae  braw  he'd  twin'd, 
Wi'  hawthorn  an'  wi'  rose  combin'd; 


264  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

As  light  he  scrambled  owre  the  hill, 
Whare  wanders  douri  the  sabbin'  rill 
The  lee  lang  day  wi'  plaintive  trill; 

Sae  aft  he  cried,  fareweel,  my  love; 

While  echo  frae  the  rocks  above 

Still  murinur'd  back,  fareweel,  my  love. 

Her  heart  was  sairly  sad  an*  lane; 

For  ere  a  fleetin'  year  had  gane, 

An'  ere  the  twelve  month  moon  shou'd  wane; 

Her  minnie  bad,  wi'  stern  command', 
Her  wed  the  laird  o'  mickle  Ian', 
An'  link  her  fate  in  Hymen's  ban'. 

'Twas  simmer — an'  the  win's  sae  frae, 
Still  gamboll'd  on  wi'  wanton  glee, 
Owre  hill  and  dell,  owre  flow'r  and  tree; 

The  birdies  sported  'mang  the  heather 
An'  bobb'd  and  blink'd  at  ane  anither, 
And  sang  sae  cheerfully  thegither. 

An'  as  the  gloamin'  glimmerin's  fade, 
Owre  mount  an'  dell,  owre  burn  and  glade, 
In  ilka  rainbow  hue  and  shade. 


FANCY S    ETCHINGS. 

Puir  Jeanie  strayed  wi'  heart  sae  wearie, 
VVhare  last  she  parted  frae  her  dearie, 
Aneath  the  hawthorn  uow  sae  drearie — 

That  rose  beside  the  flow'rie  hill, 
Where  wanders  doun  the  wimplin'  rill, 
The  lee  lang  day  wi'  plaintive  trill. 

The  morrow  came  wi'  golden  ray, 
An'  a  the  world  look'd  glad  an'  gay, 
As  joyfu'  f  01-  her  weddin'  day : 

Though  frae  her  cheek  the  rose  had  died, 

They  led  her  to  the  kirk  wi'  pride, 

To  mak'  her  there  stern  Donald's  bride. 

They  reck'd  nae  o'  her  wild  despair, 
While  a'  the  shaw  and  grandeur  there 
But  fill'd  her  faithfu'  heart  wi'  care. 

They  ca'd  her  love  a  youthfu'  dream, 
Like  rays  o'  starlight  owre  the  stream, 
That  flee  an'  lea'e  iia  ling'rin'  gleam; 


Or  meteor  frae  the  brow  o'  night, 
Whas  beam  may  lea'e  ria  trace  o'  light, 
Where  a'  was  beautifu'  and  bright. 


266  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

But  'mid  the  minnie's  doatin'  pride, 
Just  ere  they  ca'd  the  lass  a  bride, 
Young  Willie  bounded  to  her  side: 

Then  Donald's  look  was  sair  dismayed, 
As  the  fond  lover  clasped  the  maid, 
To  find  his  drauchit  scheme  betray'd. 

Alice  mair  rang  out  the  marriage  bell; 
An'  louder  still  hits  peals  wa'd  swell, 
As  gif  the  joyfu'  tale  to  tell. 

An'  ne'er  a  bonnier  bride,  I  ween, 
In  a'  the  wide,  wide  warld  was  seen, 
In  village  lass  or  courtly  Queen. 

An'  mony  a  gleefu'  heart  was  there, 
To  greet  wi  smiles  the  happy  pair; 
Wha  wa'd  nae  in  the  triumph  share 
O'  ane  sae  beautifu'  an'  fair  ? 
Joy  shouted  in  the  vera  air, 

An'  echo  laugh'd  wi'  glee. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  267 

FLORA'S   DEPARTURE. 

Swift,  swift,  see  the  delicate  summer  is  passing, 

Like  an  angel  of  beauty  and  mirth, 
On  the  breath  of  the  flowers  she  wingeth  her  flight, 

And  now  Autumn  reigns  sov'reign  on  earth; 
Still,  the  proud  hills  are  wearing  their  emerald  robes, 

While  laughing  forth  in  the  sun's  jeweled  ray, 
The  ripe  fruits  are  shining,  but  earth's  blooms  fading, 

Silently  fading  by  leaflets  away. 

Oh,  'tis  sad  that  the  grave,  e'en  the  fairest  should  hide — 

Sad  a  cloudlet  should  darken  the  sky — 
Oh,  'tis  sad  that  earth's  spirit  like  flowers  should  fade  — 
''Sad  the  beautiful  ever  should  die." 
'Yet,  there's  blight  in  the  blast  as  it  sweeps  o'er  the  cliffs, 

As  it  sports  with  the  old  forest  tree, 
Oh,  there's  blight  in  the  blast  as  it  moans  through  the  vale, 

Like  the  voice  of  the  storm  howling  sea. 

While  like  dew}r  wing'd  sprites  in  the  glittering  air, 

The  fountain's  clear  waters  are  leaping. 
Though  still  gorgeous  and  bright  in  the  westerly  sky 

The  sunset's  rich  colors  are  heaping. 
Oh,  but  paler  and  paler  the  tyrian  dyes 

Through  twilight's  dim  hazing  is  streaming, 
Like  the  hectic  that  flushes  on  beauty's  soft  cheek, 

Still  fainter  and  shadowy  gleaming. 


26S  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  110  daisies  are  strewing  the  death-blighted  sod — 

There  no  wild  buds  or  violets  peep, 
But  still  Zeplryr  is  sing-ing  her  lullaby  song, 

As  if  hymning  loved  summer  to  sleep. 
Pomona  is  guarding  her  ambrosial  gems, 

As  old  Time  numbers  out  the  swift  hours, 
While  all  crownless  and  sad,  lo  !  sweet  Flora  departs, 

With  a  girdle  of  withering  flowers. 


A   SIGH   TO   THE   PAST. 

A  sigh  to  the  past — to  the  future  a  smile, 

Whate'er  it  may  be,  still  the  present  is  ours; 
Though  clouds  may  have  shadow'd  life's  sun  for  awhile, 

And  sorrow  hath  wither'd  hope's  loveliest  flow'rs, 
Yet  ne'er  weep  o'er  the  gems  once  lost  in  time's  sea, 

Nor  look  to  the  future  with  doubt  and  decay, 
For  the  present  is  ours,  whate'er  it  may  be, 

If  peace  is  thy  guest,  be  content  while  ye  may. 

For  ye  may  not  recall  one  moment  of  time, 

Adieu  to  the  past — know  for  aye  it  must  sleep, 
Though  mem'ry  shall  oft  wake  her  mystical  chime, 

And  thought  o'er  the  byegone  its  vigil  shall  keep; 
The  old  year  hath  died— and  time's  pinions  unfold, 

Still  bringing  us  nearer  and  nearer  the  tomb, 
Ere  another  long  year  shall  its  records  have  told, 

Oh!  what  shall  awake  from  futurity's  gloom? 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

MEMORIES. 

Oh!  wind,  thou  dirge-like,  dismal  wind, 

But  whisper  of  the  past  — 
Of  the  things  that  were — the  music  flown, 

The  tones  that  could  not  last — 

But  died  awav. 


From  that  vista  dim,  there's  sad  return 

Of  strains  once  soft  and  clear — 
Of  the  tones  that  fled,  like  the  passing  breeze, 

And  left  no  echo  here  — 

No  ling'ring  lay. 

The  sad — the  glorious  past  —that  went, 

Like  the  early  breath  of  spring; 
The  notes  that  burst  from  the  shatter'd  harp, 

On  the  last  unbroken  string — 

The  wild  deep  note. 

It  wafts  me  echoes  of  joys  that  past, 

Strains  of  my  native  land; 
Sweet  voices,  that  once  cou]d  glad  my  soul, 

Of  the  scatter'd  household  band — 

Around  me  float. 


270  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  music,  that  came  like  the  mournful  tone, 
Of  a  young  bride's  fun'ral  knell; 

From  hearts,  oh!  sad  as  the  captive's  heart, 
'Mid  gloom  of  his  starless  cell — 

The  thrilling  tone. 

It  wafts  me  the  roar  of  the  gushing  sea, 
The  song  of  the  summer  guest; 

And  the  sigh — that  emblem  of  hidden  grief- 
Born  of  the  heart's  unrest— 

Deep  sorrow's  moan. 

It  brings  me  the  last  enchanting  word, 

That  died  on  love's  soft  breath; 
It  murmurs  of  joy,  of  birds  and  flow'rs, 

Of  sorrow,  pain  and  death; 

Of  things  unkind. 


Then  cease,  thou  dirge-like,  dismal  wind — 

Koll  back,  thou  tide  of  years; 
The  bitter  fount — the  mingling  false, 

Of  joy,  and  sorrow's  tears; 

Take  back,  oh!  wind. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  271 

OH!  WHY  IN  SADNESS  BrJW  THE  HEAD. 

Oh!  why  in  sadness  bow  the  head, 

O'er  blighted  hopes  the  heart  bereaving; 
Oh !  there  are  woes  o'er  which  to  shed 

Thy  tears  in  true  and  earnest  grieving; 
Go  to  the  home  where  sorrow  flings 

A  damp  on  every  hour  of  living — 
Where  poverty  like  Banshee  clings — 

To  scenes  like  this  thy  tears  be  giving. 

Ungrateful  child  of  wealth  and  ease, 

And  pamper'd  state,  forever  wanting 
Some  whim  or  wish,  wherewith  to  please 

Thy  selfish  heart — while  care  is  haunting 
Thy  neighbor's  steps,  while  he  lone  sighs, 

In  hungry  wretchedness  repining; 
No  fancied  grief  his  bosom  tries — 

But  yet  for  him  a  beam  is  shining, 

Brighter  than  aught  that  earth  can  give  — 

Faith,  faith,  that  weary  heart  is  blessing; 
Deathless,  through  every  ill  to  live, 

And  nerve  his  soul  thro'  all  distressing, 
A  lesson  learn  thou,  too,  from  him, 

To  bear  in  patience  every  trial, 
Nor  sigh  o'er  every  falling  whim, 

But  teach  thy  nature  self-denial. 


272  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


TO  MY  SISTER,  ON  HER  BRIDAL  DAY. 

Farewell!  if  ever  fondest  prayer 
For  other's  weal  avail'd  on  high, 

Mine  will  not  all  be  lost  in  air, 

But  waft  thy  name  beyond  the  sky. 

BYKON. 

My  Sister,  thou  must  leave  us  now, 

Must  leave  thy  childhood's  happy  home, 

Thou'st  liiik'd  thy  fate  to  one  thou  lovest, 
With  him  alone  thro'  life  to  roam. 

The  orange  wreath  that  decks  i\iy  hair, 

On  this  thy  joyous  bridal  day, 
Be  emblem  of  thine  after  life — 

Of  love  that  ne'r  may  know  decay, 

The  sparkling  depths  of  those  dark  eyes, 
May  tear  of  sorrow  ne'er  o'ershade 

The  deepening  color  of  thy  cheek, 
Oh!  ma}r  it  never,  never  fade. 

Pure  as  the  dew  that  falls  at  even ! 

Still  gush  the  spring  within  thy  heart, 
Of  changeless  love,  that  lives  undimm'd — 

Although  perhaps — for  years  we  part. 

May  fortune  gild  thy  future  way, 

And  Heaven  crown  thee  with  the  blest, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  27% 

And  never  may  an  earthly  care 
Awake  thy  gentle  soul's  unrest. 

Yes!  go,  my  sister,  fare  thee  well, 

Oh!  in  these  words  there's  much  of  pain, 

'Tis  hard  to  part  with  one  we  love — 
Nor  know  that  we  may  meet  again. 


TWILIGHT. 

Hail!  twilight  hour,  when  the  enraptur'd  breeze, 
Sweeps  with  rich  music  thro'  the  waving  trees; 
And  the  bright  waters  rushing  on  the  shore, 
Laugh  as  they  dash  their  glit'rmg  jewel  store 
Of  shining  ripples,  sparkling  in  the  ray, 
That  sunset  lends  to  <;uild  the  ling 'ring  day; 
When  rainbow  hues  in  mazy  splendor  gleam, 
Flooding  the  lea,  and  quiv'ring  on  the  stream; 
As  day,  enamour'd  of  the  beauteous  earth, 
Blushing  departs— and  paling  heav'n  gives  birth 
To  the  first  herald  of  night's  blazing  train, 
That  beams  and  flutters  o'er  the  bounding  main, 
Then  smiling  fancy  wings  her  radiant  flight, 
And  pond'ring  reason  trims  her  flickering  light; 
Oh!  then  into  the  dreamy  mind  will  steal, 


274  FANCYS  ETCHINGS. 

Sweet  thoughts  and  visions — then  the  heart  doth  feel, 

A  mystic  yearning  after  things  more  high, 

Then  cling  to  earth — a  wish  to  pierce  the  sky; 

Then — then,  if  e'er  the  trembling  soul  would  flee, 

And  fearless  dart  into  eternity, 

But  for  one  glimpse  of  that  unseen — unknown, 

Where  shine  the  blessed — round  the  Omniscient   throne; 

Whose  pow'r  inimitable  we  mortals  trace, 

In  ev'ry  orb  that  whirls  thro'  trackless  space, 

In  ev'ry  leaflet  springing  irom  the  sod, 

All  bear  thine  impress — oh!  Eternal  God. 

Then  flushing  memory  will  haply  stray, 

Back  to  the  scenes  of  youth's  enchanted  day! 

E'er  the  young  heart  had  dreamed  of  grief  or  pain, 

Oh!  blissful  time  that  ne'er  may  come  again; 

Alas!  how  little  think  we,  then,  the  strife, 

The  many  ills  that  cloud  our  human  life. 

But  twilight  hour,  thou  bring'st  a  thrilling  calm, 

To  the  worn  soul — a  soothing,  holy  balm, 

That  bids  us  lift  our  stricken  hearts  to  heav'n, 

Where  grief  shall  end  -and  all  shall  be  forgiv'ii. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  275 


FAREWELL  TO  THEE,  JERSEY. 

When  the  winds  are  rocking  the  waves  to  sleep, 

While  from  rose  tipped  shells — like  a  zephyr's  sigh, 
Or  a  wind  harp's  moan — to  the  billowy  deep, 

The  mermaids  are  chanting  their  lullaby. 
When  Summer  iu  beauty  is  wrapping  the  land, 

And  flowers  are  gemming  the  emerald  heath, 
When  the  fairy  queen,  with  her  glittering  band, 

Are  twining  by  moonlight  their  mystical  wreath; 
When  all  earth  is  glad,  and  my  heart  is  gay, 

Then  fancy,  011  pinions  all  light  and  free, 
Will  again  return— for  as  sun  to  the  day, 

This  heart,  oh!  fair  Jersey,  will  \raiider  to  thee. 

Farewell  to  thee,  Jersey,  I'll  think  of  thee  often, 

When  the  proud  moon  in  splendor  is  shining  afar, 
And  thought  of  thee  still  shall  life's  weary  way  soften, 

Thy  memory  will  live  in  each  glorious  star. 
I'll  think  of  thee,  Jersey,  when  lingering  twilight, 

In  shadowy  beauty  is  gilding  the  stream; 
When  the  rosy  day  fading  gives  place  to  the  night, 

Oh!  thy  mem'ry  shall  cheer  me,  in  waking  or   dream. 

'Twill  live  in  each  season,  in  the  sun's  laughing  rays, 
In  the  winds,  in  the  waves,  in  the  breath  of  the  flow'rs, 

And  when  the  songsters  of  Summer  pour  forth  their  sweet 

lays, 
'Twill  mind  me  of  thee— and  life's  happiest  hours. 

I'll  think  of  thee,  ever,  when  night's  orbs  have  faded, 


276  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  morning  first  beam  is  kissing  the  lea; 
As  nature  awakes  from  the  gloom  that  o'ershaded, 
I'll  think  of  thee,  Jersey — I'll  think  then  of  thee. 

When  the  June,  with  her  wreaths  and  her  roses,  shall  come, 

Or  bleak,  leafless  Autumn,  with  withering  blast, 
I'll  think  of  thee,  Jersey — of  thee  and  my  home — 

And  in  fancy  I'll  wander,  'raid  scenes  of  the  past; 
For  I  love  the  glad  waters  that  lave  thy  dear  shore— 

Thy  hill,  dell,  and  vale,  and  thy  soft  balmy  air; 
And  though  I  may  rove  on  thy  banks  never  more, 

I'll  love  thee,  for  oh!  my  sweet  home — it  was  there. 

(Where  the  willows  are  chaunting  in  glee  to  the  breeze, 

That  whispers  each  tone  to  the  snowy -wreathed  spray — 
Where  the  landscape  is  stretching  far  out  to  the  seas, 

That  sparkle  like  gems  in  the  flashing  of  day.) 
How  from  thee,  alas!  could  I  ever  depart — 

For  the  cold-hearted  worldling  to  desecrate  thee; 
Yet  I  may  not  return  to  the  home  of  my  heart, 

Though  a  thousand  sweet  memories  still  bind  thee  to  me, 
Not  a  soft  note  of  music  e'er  falls  on  mine  ear, 

But  thrills  to  my  soul  like  a  voice  from  the  past 
Of  the  hopes  that  have  faded — the  things  that  were  dear — 

Oh!  those  hours,  too  precious — too  blessed  to  last; 
Ere  time  had  o'ershadowed  my  mother's  sweet  srnile, 

Where  faith,  like  a  ray  from  yon  heaven,  reposes, 
When  the  fairy-winged  hours  passed  lightly  the  while, 

And  life  seemed  a  Spring-time — a  pathway  of  roses. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  277 

When  at  evening  my  sire  would  join  in  the  throng, 
And  glad  tones  of  music  so  joyous  would  ring, 

And  the  young  heart  was  gay,  'mid  the  dance  and  the  song-- 
But  change  o'er  that  spot  now  a  shadow  doth  fling. 

But  again — perhaps  often — our  fair  bark  may  glide, 
In  spirit-like  beauty,  o'er  Hudson's  dark  waves, 

As  Elfin  light  skimming  the  breast  of  the  tide — 
That  floats  on  in  splendor  o'er  glittering  caves. 

Oh!  Jersey,  I  love  thee — though  sorrow's  deep  shade 
Has  darkened  thy  light,  like  a  spell  from  the  tomb, 

Yet  this  shadow  may  pass,  as  the  storm-cloud  will  fade — 
When  the  rainbow  is  bursting,  like  hope  thro*  the  gloorn. 

Though  I  go  'mid  the  scenes  of  splendor  and  pride, 
And  in  the  bright  revel  will  oft  share  a  part, 

Yet  still  I  will  turn  to  the  years  that  have  died — 
Still  mem'ry's  sweet  blossoms  shall  circle  my  heart. 

Then  farewell  to  thee,  Jersey — thy  frown  or  thy  smile  — 

No  more  shall  I  list  to  thy  soft  vesper  bell; 
With  sorrow  I  leave  thee,  my  beautiful  Isle, 
And  weep  as  I  murmur,  this  parting  farewell! 


18 


278  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


SONG. 

Did  ye  greet  nane,  when  anither, 

Had  tane  thy  Jeanie  lass  awa; 
Was  it  not  sair  grief  to  anither 

Luv  for  ane  sae  leal  and  braw, 
Ken'd  she  little  o'  thy  looing, 

That  your  heart  was  a'  her  aiii, 
Sair  had  been  her  waeful  ruing, 

To  hae  gien  anither  pain. 

Nae  coquettish  freaks  were  in  her, 

Ay,  sae  meek  and  kind  was  she, 
Joyfu'  heart  that  ance  cou'd  win  her, 

His  ain  wine  true  to  be; 
Innocence  the  gift  o'  heaven, 

Dwells  sae  faithful  in  her  breast; 
Ane  to  whom  her  luv  was  giv'n, 

Weel  might  thoct  himsel  richt  blest. 


WOMAN'S  WRONGS. 

Oh!  woman,  thine's  a  weary  lot- 
So  oft  forsaken  and  forgot, 
And  left  defenceless  in  this  world 
To  venom'd  malice,  at  thee  hurl'd, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  279 

With  none  to  soothe  thy  grief -worn  heart, 

Nor  aid  thee  in  thy  troubled  part; 

To  droop,  neglected  and  alone — 

Crushed  the  fond  heart — the  lofty  throne 

Of  purity,  that  lovely  spring. 

Treated  as  'twere  a  worthless  thing. 

When  beauty  fades  from  off  thy  face, 

Or  thou  hast  lost  thy  winning  grace, 

Man  heeds  not,  in  his  wild  career, 

The  paling  cheek — the  falling  tear,— 

By  him  like  worthless  weed  cast  by, 

To  bear  thy  wrongs,  and  bearing,  die; 

Nor  soothes  he  thy  last  parting  breath, 

Nor  weeps  he  o'er  thee  cold  in  death: 

And  when  thou'rt  wrapt  in  shroud  and  pall — 

He  revels  in  the  festive  hall, 

And  turns  with  fiendish  art  again, 

Some  other  guileless  heart  to  chain. 

Oh!  woman,  would  that  thou  couldst  hide 

Thy  feeling  heart  by  woman's  pride; 

Hide,  hide  thy  grief  by  seeming  mirth, 

That  man  may  estimate  thy  worth; 

Then  his  the  part  to  sue  and  plead, 

And  his  the  shattered  heart  to  bleed, 

And  his  the  tear — the  deep-drawn  sigh — • 

When  meeting  coldness  from  the  eye 

That  once  could  with  such  kindness  beam, — 

The  sleepless  night,  or  fearful  dream. 

Oh!  act  awhile  man's  selfish  part, 


280  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  veil  the  jewel,  woman's  heart; 
Let  him  but  bear  what  thou  hast  borne — 
The  cruel  taunt,  the  look  of  scorn, 
Think,  would  he  bear  such  woe  the  while , 
And  wear  the  same  kind,  loving  smile  ? 
No!  woman,  'tis  alone  thy  doom, 
To  pass  in  sorrow  to  the  tomb. 


THE  HEART. 

» - 

Heaven  ordains  that  each  should  feel, 
His  share  of  sorrow  and  distress; 

But  this  must  end — and  man  will  pass 
From  ills  that  cling  to  earthliness. 

Where  the  thorn  and  weeds  are  growing, 

There  roses  may  not  bloom; 
And  joy  may  never  warm  the  heart, 

Where  sorrow  leaves  its 


And  how  oft,  when  storms  are  raging, 
The  stream  its  bank  o'erflows; 

And  oft  the  heart  is  flooded  o'er 
With  maddening  grief  and  woes. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  281 

How  oft,  amid  the  worldly  throng, 

The  bright'st  smiles  of  gladness 
Are  but  the  veil  to  hide  the  heart  — 

Fill'd  with  woe  and  sadness. 

How  blest  is  he  whose  feelings  gush, 

Free  as  the  crystal  spring; 
How  bright  hope's  flow'rs,  within  the  heart, 

That  ne'er  felt  sorrow's  sting. 

But  wretched  is  that  man,  whose  heart 

Is  dark  with  crime  and  shame; 
Oh!  curst  is  he  who  ne'er  hath  felt 

The  warmth  of  virtue's  flame. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  LOVE. 

The  purple  clouds  lie  in  the  west, 
Tinged  with  the  sunset's  golden  hue; 

The  lily  holds  her  fair  face  up, 

Bathed  in  the  twilight's  shining  dew. 

The  bleating  sheep  with  busy  feet, 

Haste  at  the  sound  of  herdsman's  cry, 

The  brooding  cows  in  drowsy  mood, 
Amid  the  tall  grass  nodding  lie. 


282  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

And  in  the  deep  woods  solemn  isle, 
Norman  with  her  he  loved  so  true; 

Knelt  by  the  gleaming  brooklet's  edge, 
There,  there  loves  try  sting  to  renew. 

Hand  clasped  in  hand,  cheek  pressed  to  cheek, 
So  bow'd  they  by  the  brooklet's  side, 

Like  phantoms  in  the  shining  stream, 
Shone  back  their  faces  from  its  tide. 

But  ere  the  warning  knell  of  time, 
Had  toll'd  another  twilight's  end; 

Norman  in  freedom's  daring  ranks, 
Went  forth  his  country  to  defend. 

No  tidings  came  through  weary  months, 
And  Norman,  Ah!  why  came  he  not? 

White  grew  the  hapless  maiden's  cheek, 
Dreaming  that  trysting  vow  forgot. 

Ah!  knew  she  not  'mid  battle's  rage, 
Her  lover  met  a  soldier's  death, 

And  dying  'mid  the  din  of  war, 

Had  blest  her  with  his  latest  breath. 

And  still  at  twilight's  haunted  hour, 
She  wanders  to  the  brooklet's  side; 

Like  spectre  kneeling  lowly  down. 
Her  white  face  imaged  in  its  tide. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  283 


TO  MISS  CATHAKINE  HAYES. 

Lo!  Tara's  Harp  awakes  once  more, 
A  skillful  minstrel  sweeps  the  strings; 

And  now  on  Freedom's  blessed  shore, 
The  gifted  "  Swan  of  Erin  sings: 

Her's  the  magic,  rapturous  strain, 

To  thrill  the  soul  with  joy,  or  pain. 

On  serial  wings  each  soft  breath  floats, 

Music's  majestic  art  revealing; 
O'er  human  hearts — the  searching  notes, 

Touching  the  inmost  chords  of  feeling; 
Blessed  be  the  land  that  gave  thee  birth, 
VICTORIOUS  SONGSTRESS  of  the  earth. 

Seraphic  tones — as  listening — lo! 

What  strange  allurement  charms  the  soul; 
Earth  seems  a  Heav'n,  as  in  full  now, 

The  chiming  numbers  sweetly  roll, 
And  thou,  triumphant  Queen  of  Song, 
The  highest  'mid  the  angel  throng, 

Apollo  aside  his  Lyre,  would  fling, 
To  list'n  thy  enchanted  breathing, 

Immortals  choicest  tributes  bring; 

Thy  sinless  way  with  glory  wreathing; 

While  proudly  waves  the  flag  of  fame, 

Emblazon'd  with  thy  lauded  mime. 


284  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

MONODY. 

We  bow  Omniscient,  to  thy  mighty  will, 

That  calmed  the  winds— and  bade  the  waves  be  still  ! 

Thou'st  ta'eii  thine  own,  a  spirit  pure  and  bright, 

To  dwell  with  thee,  within  those  realms  of  life; 

To  hymn  thy  praises  'mid  the  holy  trains, 

That  fills  the  skies  with  sweet  seraphic  strains. 

Oh,  type  of  him — the  Saviour  of  the  earth, 

•Christ,  the  immortal  child  of  heav'nly  birth; 

Thou,  thou,  too  beautiful  to  linger  here, 

Art  happy  now — in  yonder  brighter  sphere. 

Ah  !  yes,  thou'rt  blest— for  angel  wings  unfurl'd, 

Have  borne  thy  soul  to  that  mysterious  world; 

Oh  !  gem,  ethereal — rose  bud — spirit  flown; 

In  vain  the  mother  fond  would  clasp  her  own. 

The  cherub  fair — the  timid,  bright  e}red  dove, 

That  sweetly  nestled  'neath  her  shelt'ring  love; 

That  fairy  thing,  her  little  baby  boy, 

Bereft  of  thee,  her  hope,  her  only  joy; 

In  vain  she  listens  for  the  bird-like  trill, 

That  gave  the  heart  such  joyous  rapturous  thrill, 

In  vain  she  turns,  elate  with  hope  the  while, 

To  greet  the  sunshine  of  thine  infant  smile; 

But  sorrow  comes  where  joy  so  oft  hath  blest, 

And  gloom  and  sadness  fill  her  lonely  breast; 

And  those  clear  orbs  that  beam'd  with  such  delight, 

Now,  now  are  closed,  as  day  fades  into  night; 


FANCY S    ETCHINGS.  28o 

And  ceas'd  the  beating  of  that  guileless  heart, 

Alas  !  'tis  hard  with  one  so  dear  to  part; 

The  deepest  pang  that  mortal  e'er  may  know, 

Oh  !  fearful  blight,  oh  !  wretched  hour  of  woe, 

The  wildest  grief  a  mother's  heart  e'er  prov'd, 

When  cold  in  death,  the  thing  so  fondly  lov'd — 

That  silent  woe,  the  tongue  may  never  speak, 

While  tears  of  anguish  course  her  pallid  cheek, 

As  on  the  violets  trembling  dew-drops  lie, 

Like  diamond-star  or  tear  from  angel's  eye. 

As  darken 'd  waters  o'er  bright  caverns  roll, 

So  thou,  oh  !  grief,  thou  chast'ner  of  the  soul, 

Com'st  o'er  the  heart — eiitwin'd  with  hope's  fair  wreath, 

That  stilJ  musr,  bloom  amid  thy  blighting  breath; 

The  cloud  floats  onward — and  days'  golden  light, 

Bursts  gently  forth — magnificently  bright, 

With  zephyr's  soft  and  balmy  chrystal  rain, 

The  Summer  cornes — and  nature  blooms  again; 

The  simplest  plant  lifts  up  its  tiny  head, 

And  lives  anew — as  will  our  blessed  dead. 

All,  all  must  fade,  the  beautiful,  the  fair, 

The  flowers  that  flings  its  fragrance  on  the  air; 

But  oh  !  there's  hope,  though  all  we  cherish  die, 

That  we  shall  meet  in  homes  beyond  the  sk}-, 

For  all  that's  mortal  'mid  this  scene  of  strife, 

Will  pass  unto  a  brighter,  holier  life. 

Then  weep  not,  weep  not,  o'er  the  \vreck  of  death, 

For  borne  upon  a  trembling  whisper 'd  breath, 

As  sunset  gilds  with  many  a  gorgeous  ray, 


286  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Of  rainbow-dyes  the  lingering  light  of  day, 
That  soul  went  forth  to  the  celestial  land, 
'MM  shouts  of  triumph  from  an  angel  band; 
Like  gleams  of  moonlight  bursting  o'er  the  streams, 
It  woke  to  bliss — 'mid  Paradisean  gleams; 
The  God  of  mercy  from  his  glorious  throne, 
Hath  call'd  thy  babe,  hath  taken  back  his  own. 
Then  weep  not,  weep  not,  o'er  earth's  tie  that's  riv'n 
It  forms  a  link  for  thee,  in  yonder  heav'n. 


THE   LAKE   OF    THE   CLIFF. 

The  fire  fly  lamps  all  brightly  glow, 
And  the  owlet  cries  with  voice  of  woe, 
And  Elfins  peep  from  their  sparkling  caves; 
While  starlight  imaged  in  the  waves, 
Sends  o'er  the  stream  a  mystic  light, 
That  lends  a  glory  to  the  night; 
And  joyfully  oh  !  away  we  glide, 
Across  the  silent— voiceless  tide, 
With  cheerful  hearts,  and  gleesome  song; 
That  echo  trembling  would  prolong, 
That  now  from  cliff  to  cliff  doth  bound, 
And  on  the  mimic  mounts  resound. 
Amid  thy  vale  of  birds  and  flow'rs  ! 
Oh  !  blithesome  pass  the  summer  hours: 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  287 

The  heart  so  full  of  joy  and  mirth, 

Scarce  dreams  that  grief  can  cloud  the  earth. 

The  wild  rose  and  the  violet  blow, 

And  the  daisy  lifts  its  brow  of  snow, 

Upon  the  margin  of  the  stream, 

Where  moonlight  pours  its  silvery  gleam; 

While  mid  the  grandeur  of  the  wood, 

With  its  deep  mournful  solitude, 

Like  gushing  fount  the  fragrant  breeze  ! 

Makes  music  with  the  whisp'ring  trees, 

And  morning  comes  with  voice  of  glee, 

While  dances  on  so  light  and  free; 

Adown  fair  Chester's  rocky  hills, 

The  tiny,  shouting,  sparkling  rills; 

While  sunshine  lends  its  flashing  ray, 

And  glitters  on  the  brow  of  day; 

And  wild  birds  their  soft  murmurs  wake, 

Around  sweet  Chester's  fairy  lake. 


SONG. 

Thou  art  changed,  thou'rt  changed  since  last  we  met, 

On  thy  brow  care's  with'ring  stamp  is  set; 

Thou  art  changed— on  the  gay  and  thoughtless  mien, 

The  seal  of  cankering  grief  is  seen. 

In  thy  once  glad  breast,  what  bleak  despair, 

Hath  placed  its  blistering  signet  there  ? 


288  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Thou  art  changed,  thou'rt  changed  thy  hopeful  heart, 

In  sorrow  bows — and  tear  drops  start, 

From  eyes  where  once  so  joyous,  so  bright, 

Gleam  out  the  rays  of  mirth's  quiv'ring  light, 

Tell  me  beloved,  I  pray  thee  tell? 

What  power  hath  worked  this  blasting  spell  ? 


INEZ. 

Within  Toledo's  halls  there's  sounds  of  mirth, 

And  golden  harps  from  out  the  walls  are  sounding; 

Wild  bursts  of  music — echoing  soft  and  clear, 
In  joyful  cadence  with  the  zephyrs  blending; 

But  jealous  heart  marks  Inez'  witching  glance, 

Which  rests  on  one  proud  form,  amid  the  dance. 

In  vain  Alphonzo  sought  her  smile  to  win. 

And  breath'd  of  love  in  accent  soft  and  low; 
In  vain  he  sought  to  tempt  with  gems  and  gold, 

Oh  !  not  for  him  the  blush  that  ting'd  her  brow; 
But  still  he  lingers  by  her  side  the  while, 
Like  cloud  o'ershadowing,  Luna's  brightest  smile. 

The  lips  compress'd  speak  but  of  smother'd  rage, 

His  dark  eyes  with  a  demon  hate  now  glow; 
But  how  unmeet  with  that  sweet  winning  smile, 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  289- 

Is  the  stern  frown  that  lingers  on  his  hrow, 
As  he  sees  fair  Inez,  with  all  voman's  pride, 
Welcome  again  Francisco  to  her  side. 

And  from  the  scene  of  vanity  and  pomp, 

He  wander 'd  forth,  'mid  balmy  breeze  of  e'vn, 

Striving  to  still  the  passions  of  his  soul; 
But  thou,  oh  !  Inez,  thou  wert  not  forgiv'n; 

E'en  as  dark  mountain  sudden  flames  with  fire, 

So  from  his  heart  bursts  forth  the  vengeful  ire. 

The  cold,  pale  moon,  glides  on  through  azure  seas, 
And  glist'ning  star-beams,  trembling,  kiss  the  earth, 

AH  hearts  are  glad,  Alphonzo,  all  but  thine; 
All  hearts  are  filled  with  music,  love  and  mirth; 

The  wakeful  night  bird  breathes  sweet  carols  there, 

And  perfum'd  rose  breaths  scent  the  mellow  air. 

Like  the  wild  sweeping  of  the  winds  and  waves, 
Or  the  fierce  battl'ng  of  the  tempests  rage; 

Were  the  dark  passions  that  inflam'd  his  breast, 
Nor  could  reflection  his  mad  grief  assuage; 

He  seeks  thy  heart's  blood — Inez,  thou,  so  kind, 

And  fearful  visions  float  throughout  his  mind. 

And  unsuspecting,  onward  still  they  move, 

Seek  not,  enraptur'd  pair,  yon  tempting  grove; 

Some  spirit  seems  to  lure  them — ev'ry  sense 

Is  charm'd,  entranc'd,  by  honied  words  of  love; 


290  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Is  that  a  footstep — or  the  sporting  breeze, 
Wandering  gaily  through  the  whisp'ring  trees? 

They  near  the  bow'r — her  eyes  are  sparkling  bright, 
And  her  soft  cheek  with  struggling  blushes  warm, 

Joyous  as  bird  the  cruel  marksman's  aim; 

That  flits  from  bough  to  bough,  nor  dreams  of  harm; 

But  fierce  Alphonzo,  vows  ere  flies  the  night, 

Their  mingling  souls  shall  greet  the  realms  of  light. 

He  clasps  the  steel  he  thinks  will  reach  her  heart, 
That  must  the  beating  of  her  pulses  stay; 

Wildly  he  gazes  on  the  shining  blade, 

O'er  which  the  laughing  moon-beams  sport  and  play, 

He  hears  their  voices  in  sweet  music  blending, 

On  spirit  wings  to  yon  blue  dome  ascending. 

And  unappeas'd  he  seeks  for  vengeance  now, 
Dark  are  the  thoughts  that  in  his  bosom  start; 

E'en  as  the  met'or  flashing  bursts  from  heav'n, 
So  virtue's  flame  hath  fled  that  guilty  heart; 

And  brightly  still  glides  on  Guad'ana's  wave, 

He  heeds  it  not,  dark  passions  blinded  slave. 

And  forth  he  springs,  a  dagger  gleams  in  air, 
Then  swift  descends,  a  sudden  shriek — a  start; 

But  Inez  lives  !  Francisco,  shielding  her, 
Receives  the  weapon  in  his  faithful  heart; 

Deeming  thee  slain,  Alphonzo  pierc'd  his  breast, 

Then  pass'd  forever  —that  foul  soul  unblest. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  291 

'Twas  midnight — and  upon  each  murm'ring  breeze 
Came  a  sweet  voice  in  tones  of  deepest  feeling; 

Like  the  lone  Philomel  the  sad  notes  swell, 

While  moon-beams  through  the  open  casement  stealing 

A  mournful  beauty  thro'  her  chamber  sending, 

With  her  wild  dirge  for  the  dear  dead  one  blending. 

The  silver  moon  is  beaming  bright, 

Upon  the  glassy  wave, 
Melting  in  soft  shadowy  light, 

Above  thy  lonely  grave; 
And  there  blooms  upon  that  holy  spot, 
The  simple  flower,  'forget-me-not !' 

Forget  thee  !  thou  in  memory, 

With  youth's  blight  scenes  must  blend, 

Thou  that  wert  ever  dear  to  me; 
My  first — my  early  friend: 

Light  of  my  soul,  my  fond  bosom's  pride, 

How  have  I  lov'd  thee — yet  hast  thou  died  ! 

I  gaze  upon  our  fav'rite  star, 

And  feel  that  thou  art  there, 
Looking  from  that  bright  home  afar, 

On  me  in  my  despair; 
Star  of  my  destiny — joy  of  my  heart, 
How  have  1  worship Jd  thee  thus — thus  to  part. 


292  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 

Will  not  the  anguish  of  my  heart, 
Rend  the  veil  round  mercy's  throne? 

Let  me  but  wander  where  thou  art, 
My  blest  one — oh  !  my  own; 

Let  the  dark  shadow  of  this  life  fly  past, 

Make  me,  all  heavens — blest  with  thee  at  last. 

The  soft  sweet  lay  had  ceas'd — her  maids  attend, 
She  bids  them  quick  unbind  her  raven  hair, 

And  then  depart — but  still  they  loiter  round, 
Striving  by  turns  to  soothe  her  wild  despair; 

She  thrusts  them  back — and  with  her  snowy  hand, 

Still  waves  them  from  her,  with  a  proud  command. 

The  music  died — but  still  the  breeze  went  on, 

And  from  her  eyes  the  burning-  tears  were  streaming; 

Like  rayless  gems,  their  lustre  all  had  flown; 
But  now  they  close — and  calm  as  infant  dreaming, 

She  seems  to  rest;  death  o'er  her  spreads  its  wing, 

They  find  her  there — crush'd  like  a  flow'r  in  spring. 

And  morn  breaks  softly  o'er  the  eastern  hill, 
On  starry  pinions  dim  night  hastes  away, 

Lifting  his  sable  mantle  from  o'er  earth; 

Bright  heav'n  gives  welcome  to  the  crimson  day 

That  steps  forth,  blushing  like  a  timid  maid, 

That  slow  approaches  as  departs  the  shade. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  293 

Phoebus  like  a  warrior  then  burst  forth, 

His  golden  beams  o'er  hill  and  valley  flying; 

Till  lovely  evening  like  a  spectre  bride, 

Glides  slowly  on  with  gentle  zephyrs  sighing; 

Luna  looks  down  on  vale  and  mountains  height, 

Bathing  all  earth  in  floods  of  silver  light. 

Mysterious  is  this  change,  oh  !  heaven, 

Of  time,  of  seasons,  morn,  noon-night's  long  reign; 
So  like  the  feelings  of  the  human  heart, 

Exquisite  bliss — or  tort'ring  care  and  pain; 
The  fond  heart's  treasure's  love,  and  hope  and  joy  ! 
Delusive  hope,  that  tempts  but  to  destroy. 

In  Toledo's  halls — mournful  vigils  kept, 
O'er  the  pale  victim  of  the  dismal  tomb  ? 

Her  star  hath  set — the  lone  dove  is  at  rest, 
A  rosebud  blighted  in  its  early  bloom; 

And  thro'  the  dimness  of  the  solemn  night, 

The  flick'ring  tapers  send  unearthly  light. 

Passion  and  crime,  oh  !  ye  are  fearful  things, 
O'er  ye  the  Angels'  tears  in  torrents  flow; 

But  man  regards  not,  in  his  imp'ous  rage, 

High  heaven's  commands-death  chills  the  fairest  brow; 

On  earth  the  monument  then  rears  its  head, 

And  all's  forgotten — God  will  judge  the  dead. 

19 


294  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


THE  BKOKEN   HEART. 

There's  a  soft  sweet  tone  in  thy  voice  'minds  me  of  one 
Who  from  this  dreary  earth  long  since  did  part — 
One  who  fondly  loved — 'twas  unrequited  love — 
And  she  hath  died — died  of  a  broken  heart. 

'Twas  on  a  calm — a  beaut'ous  summer  eve — she  died, 
Like  that  on  which  they  parted  years  ago, 
When  he  had  gone— to  mingle  with  the  wordly  crowd — 
While  she  in  solitude  must  nurse  her  woe. 

But  where,  oh!  where  was  he:  upon  this  fatal  eve ? 
Kneeling,  perhaps,  at  other  fair  one's  shrine; 
And  was  there  no  sad  memory  within  that  heart  ? 
Cherish'd  he  not  one  look — one  tone  of  thine  ? 

And  cold  in  death  she  lay — that  being  once  so  fair — 
E'en  like  a  snow  drop  on  her  gloomy  bier; 
And  there  was  many  a  heart  that  mourned  for  her — 
O'er  her  affection  wept  its  heartfelt  tear. 

Now  with  slow  and  solemn  step  they  moved  along, 
And  ev'ry  heart  was  full  of  pain  and  gloom ; 
Gently  they  laid  her  in  the  cold — the  cold  damp  earth, 
And  plac'd  one  snow  white  rose  upon  her  tomb. 

It  was  an  emblem  true  of  her  pure  spotless  soul; 
For  she  was  pure  as  the  bright  dew  of  ev'n; 
That  guileless  heart  just  felt  the  first  fond  gush  of  youth- 
Then  turn'd  in  sorrow  to  its  native  heav'n. 


FANCY'S  ETCHINGS.  295 

THE  LAST  VIGIL. 

Eve's  hour  hath  come,  but  brings  no  rest  to  thee — 
Thou  hapless  mourner — while  all  earth  is  sleeping: 
Why  sitt'st  thou  there,  with  wild  and  fixed  gaze, 
Pale  cheek,  and  quiv'ring  lip — why  art  thou  weeping. 
And  o'er  thy  boy  this  mournful  vigil  keeping  ? 

Why  linger  here  amid  this  awful  gloom, 

While  all  earth  slumbers — youth,  innocence  and  crime  ? 

On,  ever  onward,  flows  the  rippling  sea, 

And  so  must  thou  unheeding  all — all,  oh!  Time, 

As  tolls  the  midnight  hour  a  distant  chime. 

In  darkness  and  alone,  why  art  thou  here, 

Oh !  fragile  mourner,  and  seeks't  thou  not  to  rest  ? 

Thou  art  not  alone — the  dead  are  near; 

'Tis  death  thou'st  clasped,  fond  mother,  to  thy  breast, 

Nor  seem'st  to  know  thy  boy  is  with  the  blest. 

Like  a  lone  star,  'mid  the  gloom  she  lingers, 

While  the  dim  night  the  earth's  with  dewdrops  steeping — 

That  voice  hath  hush'd  its  low  sorrowing  tone, 

The  mother's  eye  hath  ceased  its  mournful  weeping, 

And  night  its  vigil  o'er  the  dead  was  keeping. 


296  FANCY'S  ETCHINGS. 


I  DKEAMED   Otf   THEE. 

I  dreamed  of  thee  —  of  thee  I  dreamed, 

Oh  spirit,  pure  and  bright, 
I  saw  thee,  fair  and  beautiful, 

In  visions  of  the  night; 
Oh,  thou  cam'st  so  kindly  to  me, 

I  seem  to  feel  it  now, 
The  pressure  of  thy  cold  —  cold  lips, 

Upon  my  burning  brow. 
How  fondly  then  my  spirit  yearn'd, 

With  thee  to  pass  away; 
And  yet  the  tear  within  thine  eye, 

Bade  me  —  for  thy  sake  —  stay. 
How  could  they  ever  dream  of  guile, 

In  so  good,  so  kind  a  heart? 
But  earth's  sorrows  may  not  reach  thee  , 

My  blest  one,  where  thou  art; 
And  I  will  linger  here,  my  love, 

Will  linger  here  awhile, 
For  the  sweet—  the  cheering  solace, 

Of  thy  angelic  smile. 


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